Shadows of Abregado'rae
by Magical Mistress Sarai
Summary: AU: a Jedi Order that could have existed if Yoda hadn't exiled himself; A Jedi Master and his padawan take a simple mission but find themselves hunted by a mysterious and deadly group; a mysterious happening in the Force; and anicent evil threatens all.
1. Of Simple Negotiations

**Hi, and welcome to my first story to ever venture the obscure realms of Fan Fiction; thus I must say that I am hoping for a large amount of reviews. This is a story that I devised around an RP I was once in. The quick background is this:**

Three years after the events of Star War Ep. III, Jedi Master Yoda begins secretly bringing force sensitive individuals to Degobah where he begins to train them. Former Jedi learn of this happening and come to join him, new Jedi are trained, and soon enough it looks as if the Jedi may very well survive again. Our story jumps ahead fifteen years from this point. The New Jedi Order has allied with the newly born rebellion, and, in a stroke tactical genius, they have killed Palpatine and pushed the Empire back to the farthest regions of the galaxy. Darth Vader, injured in the battle, now leads the Imperial Remnant. Jedi Master Yoda, killed in the battle against Palpatine, has been succeeded by Jedi Master Dante Cross. The galaxy looks as if it is going to return to democracy and freedom as the Jedi once again spread slowly through the galaxy, their efforts to help and stabilize bringing them much respect from the galaxy's denizens... and much fear from others. On a routine mission a Cathar Jedi master and his newly chosen Zabrak padawan stumble into the intricate web of assassination, becoming the pawns of a sick hunt. Their lives are now in the crosshairs of a devious and cunning mastermind, and they are pursued by a group who not only does not fear Jedi... they seem completely capable of killing even the strongest of the order.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Wars, that magical honor belongs to George Lucas and I thank him for his brilliance... however, the history and the characters appearing in this story (aside from well known figures such as Yoda, Palpatine, Darth Vader... ect) are all of my mind. I do not own the rights to Star Wars, and any creatures, species, planets and other wonders belonging to George Lucas are his. If I had the rights I would not be here... I'd swim in the money daily.

I hope you all enjoy reading this story as I enjoy working on it. I plan to update with a new chapter (equivalent of 15 pages in Microsoft Word) every two weeks. My comments about the story, reviews, thoughts, ect. will be placed at the beginning of each chapter. I would greatly appreciate criticism and reviews. Tell me who you like, please tell me who you don't like. I love to hear my style and form criticized, and please tell me if you spot errors. This is an exercise to increase not only my storytelling abilities but also to perfect my writing skills. Thank you all ahead of time!

_**~Sarai~**_

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"Tell me why we are here again, Master," the young Zabrak looked up to her companion. Her master was a Cathar, tall and lean, who insisted upon the traditionalism of the Jedi way. He wore the less comfortable brown, woven cloth robes of the Jedi and his hood was up… he didn't want the humans of Abregado-rae to be put off by his cat like features or his ears.

"Patience L'loria," the older Jedi purred softly, his slow metered step causing him to glide gracefully through the crowd. Though he was not walking quickly, it was difficult for the padawan to keep up without running into the masses of pedestrian traffic. "Remember that this mission is as much about your training as it is to find a peaceful solution between the Trader's and Merchant's guilds."

L'loria grunted as she side-stepped quickly to avoid a rather large Gamorrean. She was glad to not be wearing the typical Jedi robes. Those bulky and hindering garments wouldn't only be tripping her at the moment; they'd be uncomfortably hot and irritatingly itchy. The young white skinned Zabrak preferred to wear a Jal Shey neophyte set, tailored to fit her small build and size. It was black and lilac all over with silver trim and she felt that it not only made her appear more flattering to people around her, but that she would feel better about herself. She was suddenly picked up without warning, just in time to miss a lethal looking Trandoshan. "Your thoughts are introverted when they should be on the task at hand…"

"I know, master, keep my mind on the present. You've only quoted Master's Qui-gon Jinn, Obi-wan Kenobi and Yoda to me like… a thousand times!" she was embarrassed at having to be picked up like a child. True she had only been a padawan for about three months, but just because she was young—that didn't make her useless. The Cathar master paused for a moment and then asked her, "Do you feel that I am useless, L'loria?"

The question caught the padawan off guard, "Of course not master! I wouldn't have anyone else train me!" This was true… L'loria had specifically wished every day that Sylir Vack would come and pick her out of the multitude of padawans and train her. So many of the padawans that were in her class had dreams that great Jedi such as Dante Cross or Cole the Politician would come and train them, but L'loria believed what the old holocrons taught: greatness was born of a pure and good heart, not deeds and not war. The Force had told her that Sylir was the master she not only wanted, but needed.

Smiling, the Cathar Jedi master's sharp white teeth were visible from beneath the shadows of his hood, "Well then don't worry about this mission. They not only sent you here, but they sent me as well. This is as much a learning exercise for you as it is for me—and we are going to have many years together my youngling… don't be hoping for death defying missions so early on in the relationship." Her gave her and affectionate rub on the head, which was a sign of care among the Cathar. L'loria was like his cub. In the Jedi order, though changed from the traditional, not many knights enjoyed a family—and Sylir agreed with the old ways… some things a Jedi gave up in their quest to protect the galaxy. The padawan master relationship was like that of a parent and child: you trained the child, you came to love them and know them… and then you had to let them go and live their own life. They would train their own children and the cycle repeated itself. The master padawan relationship was as much a learning experience for the master as it was for the student.

Embarrassed and blushing, the young Zabrak shied away to hide the red tint coming to her pale white cheeks. She was a child of her species… on four horns on her head growing in perfect symmetry, two on each side of her forehead and the ones closer to the top larger than the others. Her horns were jet black while her hair was a light silver color… it was a very unnatural, natural hair color to have. Most of her species either had black or brown hair, a few with blond… but there were very seldom cases of a light color such as hers. Sylir said that it was a sign that she was much older than her years, as if when she was born the Force knew she was too old for infancy… L'loria was just glad that her oddity had caught the Jedi Master's eye.

"Very well, master," she smiled, "I promise not to put you endanger until next mission!"

"Next mission? Did you not notice the size of that Trandoshan? If you had bumped into him…" Sylir let comment die as his apprentice started laughing, "What?"

L'loria beamed up at him, "As if a Trandoshan could put you in danger, master. You and I both know that you could have picked him up easily… even if you're puny!"

The Cathar pretended to be offended, "Puny! I beg your pardon!" He picked the girl up by the back of her collar and brought her to eye level, "Who's puny?" As a species the Cathar were hunters, predators… very animalistic creatures who knew their own instincts better than anything else. Cathar had a long history of great Jedi because of those natural instincts. Many researchers believed that those instincts came from a species' natural affinity to the Force. Most had pale tan or dark brown fur, but Sylir had pure white with splotches of black over his eyes. This had caused his tribe to label him as a mixed breed, or a genetic mishap… but that was just dogmatic and ancient prejudice. Sylir was one hundred percent Cathar, if not more, and his fur color was a genetic recessive trait attached to his mother's genes… but he had long been forgotten by his people and he had never known his parents—they were all to happy to be rid of the freak baby. The Master and the padawan shared this affinity, which is perhaps why the Force had placed them together… the galaxy as a whole was afraid of what it didn't understand. L'loria's parents wanted her, but they were afraid that with her hair color she wouldn't live long; that was a future they could not live with. When the Jedi said they wanted her… the two Zabrak were more than willing to give the girl to a life that would treat her better than they could.

L'loria stifled a laugh, and Sylir asked again, "Who's puny?" Even though he had a thin frame, sinewy and taut with muscle… Sylir wasn't puny and he had physical strength you wouldn't believe possible, anything but puny. Still—the little Zabrak and he never hesitated to poke fun at the things which made them different from others, it was a way of appreciating their differences. "Not anyone here, Master!" she said with a grin of pure glee.

"I thought so," Sylir puffed his chest out with mock pompousness. He set the girl down and they continued walking through the crowd. "Now I suggest taking a moment to focus on the task at hand: we are about to meet with two factions of a very delicate dispute. The Trader's guild wants to charge the Merchant's guild an extra fee for ferrying cargo and supplies to Abregado-rae. The Merchant's guild feels cheated because they already pay taxes, tariffs and the Trader's fee for the cargo to begin with."

"Well that's just greedy! The Merchants would have to charge more for their goods if they have to pay another tax," L'loria muttered to herself. She was actually glad that, as a Jedi, she didn't have to deal with finances. Money was a thing she wanted nothing to do with… ever.

Sylir nodded, "Unfortunately you'll learn that greed is a very large part of this galaxy… it's made it prey to many outside forces in the past, as well as those within."

"You're talking about the Empire, right, master?" the young Zabrak had to crane her neck upwards to try and look under the hood. "Among other things," the old Cathar said, evading the topic. Sylir had only been a young padawan himself when the Jedi order was faced with the invasion of Nova Corp. So many people barely remembered it, most of the other Jedi had chosen to ignore it, but Sylir always remembered. He saw daily how the galaxy was willing to trade its soul for profit… how easily Nova Corp had come, vanished and returned again—only to vanish from public eye without a trace. It was a lesson in itself that made Sylir the obvious choice for this mission. He'd studied economics, trade routes, taxation and intra-galactic trade all in the hopes of someday noticing if someone were to try Nova Corp tactics again. He might not be able to stop them, because such movements were legal, but he could make sure they were ready.

"So what are we going to do?"

"We will help them to negotiate;" the Cathar said calmly, "The Merchant's guild has made a big step by reaching out to the Jedi. They have shown they want this to be fair and proper… we will help them to reach an accord." Under his hood, the Cathar's ears twitched as a high pitched whine broke through the cacophonic symphony of the crowded pedestrians. The Force warned him a second in advance and he leaned quickly sideways, while at the same time, throwing an arm out to knock L'loria out of the way—just as a high powered blast of plasma streaked through the air. It burned a line across the arm of Sylir's sleeve before erupting into the chest of a Gand who had been walking towards them. The small insectoid looking alien crumpled to the ground as the crown scattered in screams, yells, and a drawing of various weapons—all eyes turned to the rooftops scouring for the sniper, just as another blast came whistling its high pitched turn for the Cathar.

Sylir leapt high, avoiding the blast as it exploded into permacrete, and landed on top of the building behind him and his padawan. L'loria had been smart and ducked into an ally, and while her lightsaber wasn't ignited the Jedi master could sense through their developing bond that she had drawn it and all her senses were alerted. Pedestrians were firing their weapons at the surrounding rooftops, several even taking aim at the Jedi on the roof above them but he ducked behind the ledge of the roof and out of sight just as another high frequency plasma blast exploded on the steel of the building where he had taken shelter. The sniper was good, and Sylir still hadn't been able to see where the assailant was perched. "I see him, master!" L'loria's thoughts yelled at him, "Two roof tops to your right and up four levels!"

The Cathar stayed crouched and moved quickly, not showing anything over the ledge he was hiding behind and as he got to the end of the roof he prepared to look for the attacker… just as a thought occurred to him, "Get back, L'loria! If you can see him, he can see you!" As luck would have it, the girl ducked back into the alleyway just as a plasma bolt struck the wall, whining through the air where her head had just been. Sylir took the advantage and leapt, using the image he'd received from their link, he sailed through the air. The Cathar's lightsaber ignited, the golden yellow blade slashing out to bat aside the sniper bolt that came screeching through the air, washing his robes in a faint light. The blade illuminated the shadows under his hood as the Cathar landed beside the sniper. The white fur looked golden as with one smooth swipe, Sylir cleaved the sniper's weapon in two and landed a gash along the man's leg so that he couldn't escape quickly.

With a howl, the attacker fell to the rooftop floor, clutching his leg and glaring up at the Jedi through a dark pair of goggles. He was obviously human, and obviously a bounty hunter of some sort. "Who are you? Who hired you?" the Cathar said calmly, the blade of his lightsaber held to keep the man on the floor.

"I ain't tell you nothing, Jedi!" the man obviously didn't speak basic as a first language, but his mind said enough. He was more frightened of his employer than he was of the Jedi… a fact made clear by the large weapon he was willing to shoot at them with. At this moment, L'loria landed on the building next to her master. The padawan had her silver lightsaber ignited and she was in a wary stance. That was good, Sylir had seen too many padawans get cocky when their master had done the work… many of those padawans became dead padawans. "Did he say anything, master?"

"Nothing yet," the Cathar kept his eyes on the man, watching for any movement, "the security force should be here shortly. Did the Trader's guild hire you?"

"Sure, Jedi. They hire me! Now you stop asking?" The man was lying, which was also troubling. The man's pronunciation of words left much to be desired, but the meaning was clear as before: he wasn't hired by anyone on this world. The man, while not willing to say much, was a clear broadcaster. Sylir doubted if he even knew it, but his mind said so much more than his mouth was willing.

There were sirens off in the distance. The Jedi master risked a quick look in the direction they were headed, and that was one look too many. The sniper pulled a pill out of his left glove and bit down on it. The effects were instantaneous: he began to convulse, blood pouring from his nose, and he was dead in seconds. Sylir deactivated his lightsaber and looked down at his padawan. The Jedi couldn't save the man, but he did the one thing he could: he saved his padawan from witnessing that gruesome and pointless loss of life. "Deactivate your weapon, L'loria, there is no longer a need for it…"

"He… he killed himself," she whispered, "There wasn't supposed to be anything like this…" She had wanted something more exciting than a diplomatic mission, the Force had seen fit to grant her desires with more gusto than she would have liked. At least she hadn't seen the man die; feeling it in the Force was bad enough. Thankfully L'loria had a master who cared more about people than getting desired results. The padawan had not been ready to witness someone commit suicide, and she was glad that she had not witnessed her Master kill the man. L'loria didn't know how she would have handled that.

The Cathar moved them to the edge of the roof, and with ease he picked the small Zabrak up and leapt down to the street. He carried her effortlessly and set her down gently. She didn't even feel the falling. "Death is a natural part of life, padawan… even when caused unnaturally by others. Were you listening to him?"

L'loria took a moment to consider this. "Yes…" she said finally, "I couldn't pick up much, but he was afraid of something."

"Or someone," Sylir said, certain that what he picked up was fear of a name—though what name he could only guess at. Someone had hired a gun to take out a pair of Jedi, someone who didn't care if that gun succeeded. This person also knew that even if the sniper failed, he wouldn't give up the name… and the sniper had known beyond a shadow of a doubt: that person was watching the whole thing. The Jedi master gave the street a cursory glance, neither the ground nor the rooftops showed anyone suspicious. He placed a hand on L'loria's shoulder and urged her down the road towards the security task force. They'd have some questions to answer, and then it would be best if they got to the Merchant's guild.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Allara Denali stood at her window watching the scene below. Frightened pedestrians were hurrying around the security people and keeping a wide berth around the Jedi. She had to admit herself impressed. The Master was good. She remembered him of course, barely, he was a shadow in the back of her mind—perhaps that is why she had picked him for this test subject? It was sad about Corra, though he hadn't been an actual member of the Toran'ak, she would have liked to see him kill the Jedi. It would have meant his application wasn't a waste of time to review. Rather… he'd been bested and then he'd killed himself.

"What a waste," she muttered to herself, turning away from the window. Her copper and bronze hair flipped and wafted in the motion, falling all over her shoulders as she walked back inside.

"Don' worry yourself, sir," A gruff voice answered, "He wasn't worth the effort, but he did get us useful information. We're better prepared and the men will benefit from Corra's loss." Brejec was sitting at the table in the food processor room. They had opted for space, not luxury, and the food processor would feed anyone not willing to go and dine out. Allara preferred them acting like tourists, it made the Toran'ak blend better and as of right now… no one on Abregado-rae had any idea that an elite squad of more than a score of priority bounty hunters was inside the city with one goal: eliminate the Jedi quickly, quietly, and efficiently. "I know…" Allara smiled, "I know…"

This was the first test… and everything was going smoothly.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

"I must admit, Master Jedi," the portly man wiped his brow with a silk kerchief, "This is a most disturbing occurrence. One civilian dead, property damage, and no one to answer for it or pay reparations—this whole debacle stinks of trouble. If I'd known that hiring Jedi would have brought this kind of attention to delegations, I wouldn't have bothered." The master of the Merchant's guild was a short, squat, fat, little fellow with a receding hairline of faint red hair and a long pointy mustache under his button nose. He wore thick purple clothes that resembled a traveler's suit, but with a thick black belt wrapped around his sizeable stomach: business must be good for him.

Sylir bowed politely before speaking, "With all due respect, Guild master Charleston, you did not hire us. The Jedi responded to a call of distress, no strings attached. The fact that we were attacked when we are peace keepers, that doesn't sit well with me. Had I known your mission would have put my padawan in danger...? I wouldn't have bothered." The Cathar had removed his hood and his ears were now free and standing straight up, listening intently to more than just the conversation at hand. Sylir's hair was white and short, unlike most of his kin who let their hair grow from birth with little but required maintenance, such as cutting dead ends. The Jedi master felt that it was inhibiting and potentially detrimental in a battle. He opted for a close cut that caused his hair to lay smooth with his scale, giving him more of a cat-like appearance than most Cathar. The black fur around his green eyes caused them to stand out, and it looked as if he were staring through you rather than at you… another reason to keep the hood up a majority of the time.

"Now see here, Jedi!" Charleston blustered, "There's no need for this to get out of hand! I was just speaking too hastily. It obvious that Jedi cause a bit of a fluster, what with your glowing swords and your jumping all over the place!"

The Cathar male was by no means tall for his species, barely reaching five foot eight, but he still was able to tower over the guild merchant. Sylir's emerald orbs burned into the brown eyes of the loud fool and instantly silenced him, "There is no need for yelling or insults. Nothing can be done about the past except to learn from it. My padawan and I will stay within your walls and draw no further attention, we will uphold our agreement and mediate the negotiations between your guild and that of the Trader's… and then we shall leave. Do you find the terms acceptable?"

Charleston stood with his mouth open, making as if he were going to say something but nothing came out. The small man was stunned, but recognition slowly drained into his thick skull and he nodded, "Yes… yes, of course. I apologize for my rudeness, Master Jedi." He motioned to a droid that had been standing in the corner. The shiny, silver, Cee model, protocol droid shuffled forward. "Will you and your padawan require separate quarters?" Charleston asked.

"No, that will not be necessary," Sylir moved to stand beside the droid. L'loria, who'd been silent and leaning against the wall out of sight, pushed off from the wall and moved to shadow her master. The Guild Master nodded, and without another question, ordered the droid to show them where they would be staying. It was a silent walk through the guild compound, and though it did not take an extraordinary length of time—it seemed much longer with the two Jedi were deep in thought.

L'loria was contemplating just what could drive a person to kill themselves or to try and kill others without apparent motives. The glum thoughts caused the padawan to crease her brow in frustration. The young Zabrak could still remember the feeling in the Force as the sniper's life energy seemingly ebbed away, like water in a broken glass. She also wondered what it would take to make her want to kill another sentient being. She had no family, no enemies… perhaps if the sniper had killed her master? She may have been hurt and angry enough to lash out; but she doubted if that would be the case. The padawan felt such sadness in her heart at the thought; she knew deep down that if such a thing were to ever happen—she wouldn't have the strength to keep moving, much less try and harm the person who had done the heinous act.

On the other side of the hall, the droid between them, Sylir was busying trying to work out who may have hired the assassin. This small trade dispute was not large enough to risk bringing about the repercussions of killing a Jedi… and it was quite obvious that the Jedi Master and his padawan had been the targets. This troubled the Cathar. He'd been close to death many times, and though his fur easily covered them, he had the scars to prove it. Someone had a grudge? That occurrence could be possible. Whoever was behind it, they were powerful enough to gain autonomy… and they had been watching. That meant they did not fear the Jedi or the repercussions of killing a Jedi—and that was even more troubling. Sylir had wanted to keep L'loria out of harms way long enough to get a better feel for her abilities. True, the girl was smart; perhaps smarter than most in her class… and it wasn't from knowledge of holocrons but from a deeply rooted sense of self. The young Zabrak knew to trust her instincts just as a Cathar would know from birth. She didn't doubt herself, didn't hesitate to look inward—but was she ready for something as harsh as this?

"Here you go, sentients," the droid's vocabulator blurted out with a harsh monotone, "You are to sleep here." It didn't bother with any pleasantries or formalities; as soon as its task was completed it turned to shuffle away, the silver chassis gleaming in the artificial light.

With a swipe of his palm, Sylir opened the door which vanished with a hiss of hydraulics. He allowed L'loria to enter first, then took a quick survey of those in the hallway, and then vanished inside as the door closed. They remained in silence for a long while, the padawan sitting on the bed and the Jedi Master staring at the wall as if trying to discover something unseen in the brown stone. Sylir learned every contour of the wall, from the rough surface patches and the covered patch jobs—to even the intricate cracking in the far corner, until he could learn no more. Restlessness set up on him and he removed his outer robes, folding them and placing them on the table by the door. The wood was unpolished, a natural dark brown, and carved with the intricate symbols of the Elomin; it made this piece unusually rare. Elom was a cold planet with a harsh climate; very few trees grew there… which made any Elomin carpentry pricey and unique. The Cathar stood in his cool inner robes, the coarse white material clinging to his muscular frame, removed his lightsaber from his belt and placed it on top of the folded outer robes.

"Master…?" L'loria asked quietly, seeing if it was acceptable for them to speak. When Sylir nodded in recognition the youth continued speaking, "Are we truly keepers of the peace?"

The Cathar raised an eyebrow. He knew that by taking on such a self aware student such questions were bound to arise, "What brings about this question?" She would have to work out the answers for herself, which was how he believed the best teaching was done. You could lecture for hours and still not get the point across. It was only by self realization that one truly learned anything.

"Well… it just seems like whomever that shooter was… he was aiming for us. That Gand in the crowd, the one who died, he died because we are trained to not be hit by blasters and other weapons… and then he killed himself because he didn't want us to know who hired him because that person was obviously more frightening that we are. If we are peacekeepers, shouldn't people be happy when we are around, not fearful?" L'loria looked guiltily at her Master.

"Did we start our trip here by attacking anyone?" Sylir asked simply.

"No, Master."

"Did we attempt any confrontation?"

"No."

"Did we come looking to arrest, kill, or accost anyone?"

"No! Of course we didn't!"

"Did you ever meet that man in your life?"

"I've hardly met anyone outside of the temple…"

"Then how were you doing anything other than keeping the peace, like any ordinary citizen?" The Jedi master asked her quietly.

"Well… we were here to help the guilds negotiate," the Zabrak protested.

Sylir smiled warmly and walked over to the girl, placing his hand affectionately on her head, "Then I would say you were doing a very good job at trying to keep the peace. We, as Jedi, cannot police the actions of others. If they decide to be violent, that is their choice… it is not for us to control them, only to dissuade them from doing so again." He sat down beside her and sighed, "He took his own life out of fear. It was a harsh and cowardly thing to do, but it was his choice. Look at me L'loria," His voice wasn't harsh but it carried weight and uncompromising tone, "There is nothing wrong with defending your life against someone who does wrong. Who knows how many other people were saved because we stopped that man? What I do know is this: we mourn the loss of life, because it is a loss of the Force… but we do not look upon ourselves harshly because we did a right deed. Neither you nor I wanted that man to die, but his was taken out of our hands by his own choosing, it is lamentable but we also did nothing wrong."

The youngling took a moment to process everything. L'loria was never one for hasty action, and had often been ridiculed for not moving at all… but she felt it best to absorb as much information as possible, which perhaps often led to sensory overload. Finally she nodded slowly, her pale hair bobbing as she moved, "You're right, Master. We did well, didn't we?"

Beaming down at the young Zabrak, Sylir was glad to see her in better spirits, "That we did, Padawan. That we did. Now get cleaned up and we'll see what can be done about feeding you. The Force knows you can eat more than I." The Cathar chuckled as L'loria jumped up, grinning as she ran to the fresher. She was young, but she was so old for her age that he was glad to see her acting youthful—even if they were rare occasions. Food was definitely one of them.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

"They are currently residing within the Merchant's guild compound, sir, and I don't see any sign that they will leave before morning."

Allara nodded for her own benefit, as the man on the other end of the comlink had no hope of seeing the motioned, "Very good, Lovast. Maintain surveillance through the night… I want bi-hourly reports."

"Understood, I'll see you back at the house."

With a sharp flick of her thumb, the woman turned off the device in her hands. It was turning dark quickly and the nights on this planet lasted longer than most. They were in a holding pattern. Her men were in position, but she did not want to move while the Jedi were in Merchant Hall… too much a chance of extraneous casualties. Corra had already mad that mistake, Allara and her men would not.

She walked to the window that overlooked the street, watching as the shadows stretched out over the buildings to slowly become twilight… and then settle into the calm darkness of night. Allara's dark golden eyes looked but did not see the phenomenon. Her mind was elsewhere, planning to make the most effective strike. She'd placed large amounts of effort into the Toran'ak; even more money had gone into her own appearance. Nothing would go wrong. The Jedi would complete their mission… and she would begin her own.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

"The Merchant's guild will agree to pay for the increased fuel costs for transport to Abregado-rae, and the Trader's Guild will sign assuring the second party that no other fines will be levied… that all trade negotiations are fair and acceptable," Sylir had his hood down for the mediations, better to maintain crowd control… and when he locked eyes with the heads of both guilds—all attention was on the Jedi, "Do both parties agree?"

"Aye," Guild master Charleston nodded. The portly man was decked out in deep purple velvet clothes with gold embroidery. He was being overly flamboyant in the Jedi's opinion, but it was not for the Cathar to say so. The merchant had been exceedingly worried as the negotiations went on, especially when he noticed that the Jedi was not going to dictate terms, rather that Sylir and his apprentice were merely here to keep them from killing each other.

"I am in accordance," The Master of the Trader's Guild nodded. She was a Nautolan with light, cerulean blue skin and the largest onyx eyes that Sylir had ever seen… the Nautolan female had great style, having her head-tresses adorned with straps of silver cloth and white beads, and she wore a flattering gray flight suit with a black jacket. She could take care of herself and she didn't like the formalities. The Force was rippling around her in irritation and impatience, not because she was that kind of person, but that she had deeply rooted beliefs that such things did not need mediators and contracts… she was a traditionalist. Her word was her bond and she was more in accordance this moment with putting a blaster bolt through the contract than allow these merchants to whine for another minute—which is why she was agreeing. Sylir still had to smirk as a thought trickled through the Force: an image of the Nautolan drawing the silver Nubian blaster at her side and setting the contract aflame. L'loria gave her master a sideways glance, and he raised an eyebrow as if silently asking her, "What?" The little Zabrak shook her head; Sylir chuckled to himself.

"Well mistress Cai," Charleston stood up and offered a hand, "It's been pleasure working this little disagreement out."

The Nautolan Cai, a name Sylir decided he would have to remember, looked at the human as if he'd offered her a pile of waste rather than his hand. With a short snort of contempt, she signed her name to the document and jerked her head towards the few people who had come to the meeting with her: spacers, pilots and other rogues who could get a shipment of cargo from one point of the galaxy to another, "Pack it up boyos… we're done here." She gave a curt nod to both Jedi and led her procession out of the negotiation hall.

"My word…!" Charleston floundered, "What horrible business skills!"

"Any better than complaining about lost profits?" L'loria asked under her breath, but Sylir could tell that the Guild master had heard the comment. "It is not our concern, padawan," He scolded before exchanging formalities with Charleston. Pretty soon they had said their farewells, collected their things, and were on their way to the spaceport.

"The Trader's guild wasn't really trying to cheat the Merchants were they, Master?"

Sylir shook his white furred head, his ears catching the whistling sounds of the wind and ringing slightly, "No… they were merely trying to cover increasing costs of space travel. With all the wars, with the collapse of the Empire… it has been increasingly difficult for many. Fuel prices have increased because greedy bureaucrats and tycoons are taking advantage of the public, and it hurts other enterprises as an effect."

L'loria's brow deepened, a sign that she was thinking heavily about something… soon enough, she proved the Jedi Master right when she spoke, "Then why haven't the Jedi tried to do something about it? If it's making it difficult for people, and causing problems like this, wouldn't it be our jobs as peacekeepers to fix this crisis."

The Cathar chuckled, "Ah… young one, if only life were so simple."

"Why shouldn't it be?"

"Because people own those businesses," Sylir explained, "Just because they do not operate them fairly; we cannot make them to do business the way we see fit… we would be no better than the Empire. The Jedi have been lucky to be accepted back into the galaxy. There are many who still believe the Emperor's lies—those who were alive to see the public executions of Jedi who tried to fight back… the thought of us still frightens many a decent being."

"So if we were to fix this problem…" the realization dawned on the Zabrak and her face fell, "We'd only scare people rather than help them." Sylir nodded… some things did not need to be reasserted. The two Jedi walked along the crowded street in silence, both wrapped contently within their own thoughts.

L'loria was saddened by the fact her family, for that's what the Jedi were, could not help the innocent in a more proactive manner. It made her angry that people were so selfish that they would take advantage of a crisis just to line their own pockets, and she wasn't to keen about the idea that people could be so easily fooled by a madman like Palpatine. While it was true that L'loria had barely been an infant when the Emperor was defeated… she'd seen and heard enough about his regime to know that it was a time of darkness and horror, mixed with the overshadowing darkness presented by Darth Virtra. The Zabrak shuddered; Virtra was the scary bedtime story for all padawans. "Be careful to meditate and stay close to the light side… or Virtra will come for you." Ok, so it wasn't quite that cheesy, but every padawan knew they were very lucky that Virtra had vanished from the galaxy. No one truly knew what had happened, but they knew she was gone… as were her Sith. Palpatine was defeated, but his apprentice Vader was still very much in control of the Imperial Remnant. This train of thought troubled the padawan and brought her broodings around in a complete circle.

The Jedi Master's thoughts, however, were on an entirely different track; he was thinking of an individual who had struck him as… well he didn't exactly know how the Trader's Guild master had struck him, but Sylir knew that for some reason… Cai had stood out among the others in that room. This perplexing thought had a majority hold on the Cathar's thoughts, and, though he did not want to admit it to himself, it could be for entirely un-Jedi like reasons. He took a deep breath, which didn't seem to pull his padawan from her musings, and decided that he would put these thoughts off to a later date. What he wasn't prepared for was to find that their transport had been impounded in the hangar.

Sylir stood looking blandly at the squad of security men swarming around the standard gray Corellian transport that the Jedi used for most missions these days. He was shaking his head when the lead security officer approached him. "Master Jedi," the middle aged, human male nodded politely, "I'm detective Jennings. We've received an anonymous tip that their may have been large quantities of explosives onboard your ship…"

"You don't seriously believe we'd bring—"

"Of course not, sir," The detective held his hands up defensively, "You passage was paid for by the Merchant and Trader guilds… we are just afraid this may have been a poorly crafted assassination attempt."

"Or an attempt to keep us grounded," Sylir's voice was a low growl as he looked over at the ship, "You don't have any leads, Detective Jennings?"

The black haired man shook his head, "We would have placed this under the hands of your attacker yesterday, but the finger prints around your ship don't match the deceased."

"You have found explosives then?"

"Yes," the detective didn't look worried, "It was not as large a quantity as we were led to believe, but it would sufficiently cripple your ship."

"That doesn't sound like a very effective assassination plot," L'loria chimed in from behind her master.

The detective was about to counter her argument, when it would seem that fate saw fit to honor her words. There was a bright flash of light, followed by the screeching sound of ripping metal, as an explosion from their ship knocked all the people in the hangar off their feet. The security people close enough to the blast were either incinerated to set ablaze… several running around, flailing as if their feeding the fire more air would make it stop. Sylir was the first back onto his feet, his lightsaber already in his hand, and he was quickly flanked by L'loria both scanning the hangar for a potential attack while covering the other's back.

Detective Jennings was struggling to his feet when the first blaster bolt screamed through the open hangar doors. The red bolt was headed straight for the tenured security officer, and would have opened a flaming hole in his chest if not for L'loria's quick action. The Zabrak girl leapt forward, her lightsaber batting the deadly beam away as if it were a child's ball in one of the temple games she and the other younglings used to play.

Sylir could see the potential danger better than his padawan, and the Jedi master lunged to grab both the detective and L'loria just as a fury of crimson blaster rounds tore through the air. The investigating security task force was peppered with blaster fire and cut down before they could recover. As Sylir hunkered down behind a stack of crates in the hangar bay, he could see the smoking bodies of the once living sentients.

"Blasted hell, Jedi!" Jennings swore, drawing his blaster but not daring to peek his head around the crates, "What in Gothlan's ghost is going on here?!"

Sylir had his lightsaber already in his hand, prepared to ignite it at a moment's notice, as he surveyed their potential escape routes, "It would seem that our attacker from yesterday was not alone… either that or there is something going on beyond my knowledge." Finally he decided upon an escape route and focused his attention upon his student, "L'loria… listen to me carefully. You're going to cover Detective Jennings and make for the back engineer's entrance to the southern wall. It's farthest away from the entrance."

"What are you going to do, master?" the padawan was rightfully shaken, but thank the Force she was not panicking. "I'm going to cover your escape and follow…" Sylir paused, "and hopefully I'll catch a glimpse of what we're up against. Are you ready?" Both L'loria and the human detective nodded, "Then… go. Now!"

Sylir leapt over the crates, instinct calling his lightsaber to life as he drew the attention of their attackers. He could see three of them walking through the hangar's main entrance. A tall human with a shaved head and dull, golden, body armor wielded a heavy blaster in two hands; a helmeted Twi'lek with red skin and impressive looking black, battle armor and two shoulder mounted cannons; she was flanked by a tall Trandoshan warrior who carried a wrist-mounted energy shield and a blaster rifle in one hand. They were being cautious and there were undoubtedly more behind this initial party by the way they were scouting the area. They caught sight of the Jedi almost immediately, bringing their weapons to bear with such skill that Sylir could tell these were trained professionals, far more skilled than the sniper he'd faced the other day.

Holding his lightsaber in one hand, the Jedi master furiously and frantically knocked away the blaster bolts he couldn't dodge… while he summoned the Force to fling the mountain of crates at the entrance to the hangar. The three commandos, Sylir didn't know if they were military or bounty hunters, scattered… but they were still able to cover one another as they dodged the rain of heavy, metallic, crushing death.

The Twi'lek female threw herself forward, sliding on her stomach with her hands held up to keep her blaster from misfiring. Sylir thought it was an opening, but it would seem that her shoulder mounted cannons were wired to a neural interface. They immediately swiveled upwards to cover her fall, and the Jedi had to flip out of the way to avoid the deadly blasts, knocking away the rapid shower of blaster bolts that retaliated from the Trandoshan's rifle.

Risking a look towards the back corner as he danced away from the three attackers, twirling and batting blaster rounds with finesse, Sylir saw L'loria slip out the door behind Jennings and he knew it was time to beat a hasty retreat. The Force warned him that others were about to enter the hangar. With great effort Sylir focused on the burning wreckage that used to be the Jedi Transport, and he pulled with the Force--covering the floor between him and the attackers with burning metal and starship fuel. Pushing several barrels into the inferno, the Jedi master was able to make a suitable escape… but some cold prick in the Force caused him to stop and look around just as he reached the door.

Through the blazing wall of flames, the Cathar was able to see the daunting figure that walked into the hangar at the head of at least eight other heavily armed figures… an assortment of skilled killers to be certain, but their details were marred by the heat warping the air… but around this individual everything seemed to be cold. The person wore crimson Mandalorian armor with black underclothing, the black T-visor lock onto him with cold precision and the sentient drew a blaster with faster reaction time than the Jedi could see… Warned only by the Force, Sylir ducked through the door as a heavy plasma round ripped into the permacrete wall and melted it into slag.

"Mandalorians?" Sylir wondered to himself, "Surely they wouldn't take out a hit on Jedi… not with Dante's connections to Mandalore and their culture…" He couldn't be certain what this group was, but they were skilled at keeping Jedi on their toes, and the red armored individual was definitely deadly—and definitely in charge.

"Master! You're alright," L'loria breathed out relief as Sylir rounded the corner. The Cathar had his ears pressed flat against his skull, which the Zabrak knew all to well… it was a sign that he was thinking deep and complex thoughts and it unsettled her just a bit.

Detective Jennings did not waste time; however, jumping straight into the most pressing concern, he moved around the padawan and confronted the Jedi, "Just what the hell happened back there?!"

Sylir's green eyes looked through the man and down the hall as he spoke, "Apparently there is a highly trained and heavily armed group of denizens that wish to kill someone. Seeing as how they've aimed at me with great accuracy and vigor… I'd say they are out to kill Jedi." The Cathar moved around Jennings and motioned for his padawan to follow, the man could make up his own mind.

Jennings fell right into step with the Jedi. The older human had many thoughts going through his head, they were a swirling mass of speculation and theory… most of it founded by years of experience in the field. The first thing that Detective Jennings knew was that both attacks on the Jedi had been initially executed with a precision that lent credence to prior forethought. While the first attack had failed, this second attack was not only more effective, but the individuals were more heavily armed and capable of fending off a Jedi… without dying. The Cathar had not mentioned anything about thinning their ranks. Secondly, and this was the thought which had the detective worried, he thought that if he were coordinating an attack on Jedi—he'd have all the exits covered.


	2. Of Rooftops and Escapes

Ok... first things first. **!WARNING! This Chapter is LONG.** I enjoy being very vivid in my writing, and I like to keep the integral initial feel to my work. When I started writing this chapter, it looked as if it were going to be about 7000 words, but that ended up not being the case. It is 11,016 words once you get finished reading what I have to say here (_if you even care to read my thoughts_). True, I could have split it, but if I did that it would not have meshed well with the sound of Chapter three (_which I have only just started_). So, I decided that I'm going to leave it as is. Sometimes as authors we make difficult decisions and mine is this: if you want the story to be good, then you make sure that it is. So you, as readers, get this lovely long update and the promise that I will try to NEVER make you read this much in a single sitting ever again. Chapter three is looking to be about 5,000 words, and Dark Resolution is 6,000. So I'm fairly certain that you won't have to deal with too much MASS BULK WRITING for the near future.

**A note about my updating: **I run a very exstensive log in my profile which I use to outline when my stories will be updated. If you are wondering when I'm going to post something to either SoA or my other stories... I recommend checking there. All stories will be updated on the said dates or before. I will **NOT** be late with an update unless I give more than a week's notice.

**Now onto my thoughts about this chapter **(_don't read until after the story if you don't want to know some tiny things. There are no spoilers, but if you like a fresh look at the story. Then don't read. Included in this tidbit are things like: the name of Allara's bounty hunter group, characters from the Jedi Council at this time, and thoughts about why I went in this direction with the story_) **Please continue: **I created several new characters and threw them in, while at the same time I fleshed out and gave you some better descriptions of our hunters. I don't mind telling you this now--Allara's group of bounty hunters is called the Toran'ak. I will explain later in the story just what they are and what their purpose is, but for now you get their name. I also created the Grand Master of the Jedi Council, who is human (_the person who had to take Yoda's spot_), and one of his fellow council members, who is a Wookiee. I love the Wookiees as a race, just because they have such a wonderful character trait system to work with. Now the difficult part of this thought process: this chapter may lose me some readers (_not that I have many to speak of, but I love each and every one of you dearly!_), but I started this story with a goal: it was going to be a gritty story, it was going to have things that were uncharacteristic, and it was going to be the way it was supposed to be. Things happen in this chapter--big things. I'm a person who believes that a story picks up and it keeps going and I really don't want to have any of you bored, so... this is what you are getting. If you don't like what I have done with the chapter (_i apologize_), if you do like what I have done--it only gets better from here.

I thank all of my reviewers and I did take everything into account. I promise there will be no more off-brand colored lightsabers. I only wanted L'loria's to signify her innocence and pure thoughts... so I took liberal license. I know that I sometimes refer to Sylir's lightsaber as a golden yellow... I just want you to think of deep yellow, rich like honey or fresh cooking oil. Kind of like he got a heavier dose of tradition in him. I tend to pick wierd things that symbolize factors of my characters. With Sylir and L'loria... it was their lightsaber blades. With Allara it's her clothes. Just bear with me!! I will leave you alone to read now.

_**~Sarai~**_

* * *

All the exits were covered. Allara knew this for a fact as she removed her helmet, placing the crimson Mandalorian gear under her arm. She also knew that if the Jedi wanted to get out… they would try everything in their power; therefore she needed to know just which method of escape they would try. The sooner this knowledge came to her, Allara could send reinforcements to keep the Jedi within the spaceport.

"Forgive my failure, Commander," the red-skinned Twi'lek placed a forearm to her chest and bowed, "I let the Jedi escape."

"Nonsense, Rhiar," Allara dismissed the over self depreciating alien. "The Jedi didn't manage to lay a finger on you and your team." She turned to look at the other bounty hunters gathered around her, "Alright men, listen up… Rhiar will take her team and head to the west; Lovast will take his team east… make certain to check all exits. The rest of you are to come with me. We'll take to the rooftops and be your eyes. Let's move people! The Jedi aren't going to wait for us to find them."

-- -- -- -- -- --

"You know they are waiting for us out there master," L'loria muttered under her breath. They could all see the employee maintenance exit, and both Jedi could sense the presence of two beings just outside. Sylir nodded, knowing the danger that lay beyond their escape, but he could also sense the movement all around them. If they didn't flee now… they would never escape.

"Detective… do I operate under the assumption that we will have full legal recourse to defend ourselves?" the Jedi master cast a wary eye towards the human.

With a derisive snort, Jennings brought his blaster up and checked the fuel cell, "Those commandos just took out my entire squad. Hang the paperwork Jedi… let's just make sure we get out of here."

With a solemn nod, the Cathar took point, throwing a hand at the door and the Force caused it to open silently. The high pitched whine of a thermal detonator drew the Jedi's attention to the right, just in time to see a fully black armored man lob the deadly explosive at the open door. "RUN!" Sylir roared as he threw the Force at the explosive. The detonator was obviously on a resistance setting, because the moment the force touched the device it detonated. Fire and incendiary materials erupted in a ball of death and destruction; the ruckus was an obvious alert for anyone in the area who was after the Jedi.

"L'lorai, get to the rooftops over there!" Sylir shouted, his lightsaber igniting and batting away the rapid fire that tore through the explosion. The padawan nodded and did not hesitate to ignite her saber as she leapt to the roof of the building next to the hangar.

"This alley is going to be a tomb, Jedi, if we don't move!" Jennings shouted, his blaster spitting out a slow but accurate retaliation. It caused whoever was firing at them to slow their assault. Sylir thought rapidly, moving to cover Jennings from blaster fire. "What's your magical plan?" the human shouted over the roar of combat.

The Cathar snarled, throwing out a hand and launching the detective up to land on his rump next to L'loria. Finally the smoke and debris from the explosion were clearing and he could get a layout of the alleyway. There were two attackers, the black clad man and a burly, red scaled Barabel; each held a menacing heavy repeating blaster that would not be exciting to face for long. Sylir and the pair noticed each other instantly, but the Jedi was able to react faster. Thanks to the Force, Sylir was able to summon the energy that vibrated around him into a rippling shockwave that launched from both of his outstretched hands. The living energy fulminated in a magnificent push that sent both of his attackers flying, along with chunks of rubble and debris.

Sylir turned to prepare his own leap when L'loria shouted, "Master!!"

Knowing instantly what the warning was, both from his padawan and the Force, Sylir leaped back as a high powered blaster round exploded in the ground where he just stood. On the roof of the hangar above him, Sylir saw an older human male. He word gold and bronze military armor, possibly from Telos, and his grey hair was cropped short so not to get in his way. This human knew how to use that weapon much better than their sniper yesterday… and it was the weapon that worried the Jedi master. The blaster bolt that hit the ground had been more than just energy, and he heavily doubted if his lightsaber would have blocked it.

Not wanting to tempt fate or test his theory, Sylir threw his lightsaber upward in an arc before back flipping on to the roof where Jennings and his padawan were. The yellow blade sliced through the barrel of the deadly rifle, before it reached the apex of its parabolic arc, and came back to Sylir's waiting hand.

The grey haired human was not shaken at all as he tossed the useless weapon aside, drawing up one of his wrists. Both Jedi immediately knew he was summoning the others he worked with—a number of beings that neither were certain of.

"You'll forgive us if we do not hang around," Sylir said with a bow, urging both L'loria and Jennings to flee with haste.

The man nodded respectfully, allowing them to go as he called after them, "She won't let you live… just know that much Jedi."

Something about the way he had said it, as if the outcome were already written in the strands of the Force, caused Sylir to fear for L'loria. They ran across the rooftops, each jumping across a gap to the next building--aiding Jennings when necessary. The Cathar took a brief moment to glance behind him at the small Zabrak. L'loria had a look of grim determination about her and Sylir could tell—she knew the dangers, she knew the risks… and she was all too aware that they could perish on this mission. That only left Sylir to wonder one other thing: who was this _she_ who would not let them live?

L'loria's eyes widened as she felt the rush of stinging heat pass her head, before a blaster bolt exploded into the wall of a building before them. The building was a story and a half higher than their current position and would offer them a better view of their surroundings, at least the Zabrak had figured this was their goal, but the appearance of two armed beings on the roof above them forced the Jedi and their human companion to take evasive action. "Master! I don't think they want us to leave!"

The Cathar Jedi didn't bother to comment as they hurtled down the roof, his saber covering their retreat until they reached the edge of the building they were on--there were no more rooftops to flee to.

"It's back to the ground Jedi…" Jennings growled, reaching around the Jedi to fire a shot up at their attackers, "They're trying to herd us."

At that moment the red armored commando, the one who looked to be a Mandalorian, leapt onto the roof from the one above in a feat of pure athleticism. The commando was still a good distance away, but the armor shone brightly in the sunlight. Locking gazes with the emotionless T-visor, Sylir was able to read nothing from the warrior… and it would seem his pursuer was not willing to give lengthy pause. The commando threw up an arm, and there was the forthcoming screech from the wrist rocket which launched towards their position on the edge. "_Jump_!" the master yelled, grabbing both of his companions as he launched himself from the roof. Waves of seismic force jarred their bodies as the rocket exploded mere moments later. Heat and burning chunks of duracrete assailed them as the three unfortunates landed like a crumpled mess in the street below.

Amidst the ringing in their ears, L'loria heard the distinct sound of screaming people. Well that was good to know; not because she wanted anyone to get hurt, but because the padawan was glad to know that they were no longer in a secluded place that could lend to their deaths. She was pulled to her feet by Detective Jennings. The once scruffy yet distinguished man was now dirty, his face covered with soot and grime from the past events. "Come on Jedi…" the man urged, "We can lose them in this crowd." Sylir was hesitant, and L'loria could see something within him was torn, but finally her master nodded. They ducked into a passing throng of frightened spaceport denizens, and were quickly hurried towards the exit.

"We need to find a way off this planet…" Sylir growled.

"Easier said than done, Jedi," Jennings muttered, grunting as a large Bith jostled him. "There's a private landing zone over in the Trade District. If we can get out of here, I should be able to hail Security Central and get us an escort."

"_If_ we can get out of here," the padawan drew both adults' attention forward. They were nearing the exit to the spaceport now, and L'loria could see two heavily armed and well equipped commandos were flanking the entrance. They each wore matching black assault armor of the old Imperial infantry grade, with helmets that hid whatever species they were from view, but behind those bright, blue-lit, face plates those two commandos were watching the crowd very carefully. Most of the harried and frightful pedestrians obviously thought these men to be Special Forces security to cover their escape, but their true intent was painfully obvious to the three hoping to escape: these men were to make sure that no Jedi made it out of the spaceport without a fight.

The trio slowed their progression, knowing that if they stopped it could created unwanted attention; however, they all knew that as much danger laid before them… it would only be a matter of moments before the crimson armored commando and the other hunters came at them from behind.

"Jennings… Take my padawan through the gate."

The man nodded, "What do you intend to do?"

"Give you an opening…" Sylir snarled. The Cathar ignited his saber blade, and the sudden appearance of a weapon caused the crowd to scatter frantically—Jennings and L'loria among them. No sooner had the Jedi master announced his presence then the two commandos drew their weapons. The black clad warriors were mirror images of one another, whipping their pistols from their holster and firing at the Jedi Master. Two burning projectiles came streaking towards Sylir, and the Jedi master let himself fall into the Force. Dropping one shoulder to allow a bolt to pass harmlessly past him, the Cathar brought his lightsaber up to deflect the other—only the bolt didn't stop.

The super heated metal shaft slammed into his shoulder, and Sylir roared with pain. It was at this time he noticed the thin micro filament chain still connected to the weapon held in one of the attacker's hands. The black armored soldier had shot something akin to a slug, and the lightsaber's defensive capabilities were rendered useless because of it. Sylir had only managed to cause himself more pain by heating the deadly arrow. He found himself jerked forward, and Sylir lost his footing as the man jerked roughly on the chain attached to the shaft in his shoulder. As he stumbled, the Jedi saw the other attacker loading a second cartridge into his weapon, and at once the Jedi knew their plan: they were hoping to incapacitate and kill him.

The hot piece of metal in his shoulder throbbed with pain, and, not wanting to risk losing his weapon, Sylir changed hands. Gripping the lightsaber in his left hand, the Jedi slashed through the chain. As the tension on the line was instantly released, the Cathar pitched forward and the man pulling him fell backwards, cracking his helmeted head on the duracrete wall. Sylir rolled, barely dodging another chained bolt as it exploded into the ground behind him. The Jedi master was on his feet in an instant; having calculated the long reload time for the weapon, he was able to overtake the man before he could switch weapons. With one clean and precise swipe, Sylir removed the man's head from his shoulders.

One glance was spared for the man who had fallen, he was unconscious. Something in his gut, feral instinct perhaps, told the Cathar to finish this man as well… but as a Jedi he would not kill a man who was not able to do any harm at the moment. The rest of the debate was settled for him when he heard the screech of a blaster, and a crimson red bolt exploded in the wall next to Sylir's head. The street was completely deserted now and down the way he could see four heavily armed people headed his way… none of them were the red armored warrior, but the red skinned Twi'lek with the shoulder cannons had almost hit him with a shot from several hundred years. Deciding that retreat was the better part of valor, Sylir slipped quickly through the gate, slashing the controls with his lightsaber and effectively putting a foot of metal and hydraulics between him and his pursuers—for now.

Sylir believed the evasion of his pursuers would give him a moment's respite, in which he could catch his breath; however, when he turned away from the locked gate—the crimson armored warrior was standing before him with a blaster pointed at his head. He finally got a good look at the entity's array of death. The commando wore Mandalorian assault armor, custom made but definitely from the years when Jango Fett had led on Galidraan. The armor was deep crimson, polished and unblemished, and it was apparent that this warrior took great pride in the equipment. The armor was complimented by matching wrist gauntlets, which is where the rocket had come from—though it would appear the weapon had already been reloaded. The commando's hands were odd; they were covered in a copper, clawed, metallic-glove apparatus which connected seamlessly into the wrist devices, and they gave her hands a feral and vicious appearance. The Cathar silently marveled as their lethality rivaled the ones nature had equipped to his species. The copper clovers reminded Sylir of the old armor from civilizations in the past, when men would dress from head-to-toe in plate metal in order to go to war. These hand gaunts had the same appearance, and the commando looked as though it could put the clawed fingers to good use. The Jedi master wondered what chance he would have if the commando were to be disarmed.

"Don't bother Jedi," the voice was genderless--cold and metallic. Sylir could see his face reflected in the black t-visor, and there would be no remorse found beyond that, "I'll kill you one way or another, but you'll be dead before you can even twitch… so do us both a favor." The clawed finger did not hesitate to press the trigger, and the blaster bolt would have carved a nice hole through his skull—if some invisible force had not decided, at that moment, to throw the imposing figure through the air like a child's play thing. The blaster bolt fired harmlessly into the air, and the crimson armored being vanished into a far alleyway, followed by the sound of crashing and colliding objects.

"Master!" L'loria's voice came from his left. Sylir spun around to see the tiny, silver haired Zabrak come running up, her lightsaber held ready and ignited. The girl's eyes widened when she noticed the shaft of silver metal protruding from her master's right shoulder. "You're hurt!"

Sylir turned his gaze away from L'loria and to the alley where their foe vanished. "It's nothing that will kill me…" he covered, even as he could feel warm blood running down his fur. The crimson had stained his tunic, but for the most part his robes were hiding the true extent of the damage… only careful inspection with time would be able to tell him how truly exstensive the wound was. "We need to get moving. Now."

"I agree," Jennings risked a glance back at the alleyway. "I'll contact Central for immediate back-up." The detective pulled a communicator from the inside of his jacket as all three ran from the scene. "Central, this is Detective Jennings… badge number 7114. I'm requesting immediate--" His call was cut short as a blaster bolt shrieked its cry into the air, sparking through the communicator. Jennings whirled around, his own weapon coming up, only to see the red armored warrior had twin pair of DH-10 pistols aimed for him.

Sylir spun as he felt the fear that came from Jennings. Before the Jedi could raise his lightsaber and leap to defense; two blaster bolts rang out. One struck the detective in the hand, effectively disarming him; the second struck the human in the hip—dropping Jennings to the ground as the human's leg no longer supported his weight. The man cried out in pain for a second, which is just how long it took for another pair of bolts to strike him in the head and the heart.

L'loria stood stunned, and Sylir was instantly defensive. The crimson warrior was accurate—lethally accurate. Sylir remembered something in the Archives about Jedi Paladins and their use of conventional weaponry… The Cathar wondered where this entity would rank next to that skill level. Personally the Jedi master did not want to find out. As the deadly hunter put Sylir in its sights; the Cathar Jedi took in his surroundings.

"L'loria… run now. Head for the Trade District… Do not question! I will follow." The severity in his voice spurred the young Zabrak forward, and she sped away, fleeing as if demonic specters were chasing her. She did not glance back as blaster fire erupted behind her.

Sylir's blade was a blur of motion, creating a golden web in the air before him as he parried and batted away the deadly shards of energy. The Force was the only thing keeping him alive because the shard of metal in his shoulder only allowed mobility to his left arm. The gun wielding warrior was pouring forth a rapid amount of suppressing fire, but the Jedi knew that if he were to miss a dodge or faultily project a defensive strike… he would be struck lethally. Sylir only had one shot as he backed away, only a single chance to escape… and if he missed it—he would perish and leave L'loria alone to face these monsters.

There was a parked speeder directly behind him now. He did not know if the armored warrior could read his intentions or not, but, as he parried, Sylir let the Force carry him in an elegant spin. The deflective strike turned into a piercing stab which struck the fuselage of the speeder. Fuel ignited in a violent explosion that completely engulfed the Jedi master and reached its fiery maw for the armored warrior. As the flames roared for possession of the crimson body, the commando didn't even flinch. Holstering a single blaster with blurring speed, the being clenched the freed hand into a fist, igniting a jet pack that was built into the smooth, aerodynamic design of the assault armor--less cumbersome than the original designs. The sleek red warrior launched from the ground, safely out of the reach of the hellish inferno.

-- -- -- -- -- --

As Allara landed on the nearest roof and disengaged the jetpack, she holstered her remaining blaster and carefully removed her helmet. The heated winds freed her bronze and copper streaked hair, whipping it wildly around her face as she scanned for signs of either Jedi. In the blaze of destruction, blocks of ripped permacrete and twisted pylons of metal obscured everything… but neither the Jedi master nor his brat padawan could be seen. Bringing her wrist communicator up, Allara spoke with cold detachment to her group, "This is Toran'ak leader… prime target is neutralized… begin the net for location of minor target."

Half an hour later, once she was back at the apartment where they had set up central communications, Allara removed her armor and replaced it with black civilian garb. Walking out of the fresher, the imposing femme leader pulled on a dark brown flight jacket, running both hands over her neck and pulling them through her hair. Copper strands fell all around her shoulders as once again she entered the commotion that was her fully running operation. "Lovast… give me a status report now."

The tall human with his shaved head spun around in a chair to make eye contact, "Central Security has no suspects, and the clean-up operation went completely on schedule. The detective's body, along with those at the wreckage, has been safely disposed of. The current working theory is that something malfunctioned on the Jedi vessel causing the explosion."

"Then it's not our problem," Allara said coolly, "And the Cathar?"

"No body has been recovered, but with his proximity to the explosion and the intensity of the blast… he could have been vaporized."

"A possibility… but until they find trace particles of a body… we operate as if the target is still active, understood?"

"Yes, madam! Jedi is still living unless we find a body."

"Good," Allara turned instantly as Rhiar entered the apartment, her twin shoulder cannons powering down, "Report."

As the rest of the Twi'lek's squad began to file in, they silently went to their own places to dismantle their gear. The red skinned female took a deep breath, "No sign of the Zabrak child, she's made it out of the spaceport district."

"It's of no surprise… with all the chaos from that damn Jedi's death attempt," Allara began to pace back and forth. Her subordinates could almost hear the thoughts fighting inside of her skull; the ferocity in her gaze was enough to let them know that she was formulating some sort of plan. "Rhiar… take your group and begin a counter-grid sweep of the surrounding districts. Dress in light mesh armors so that you can put cover clothing over it. Light weaponry and subduing tactics… I don't want another casualty like Ranulf."

Upon this note she turned to a black armored soldier who had been sitting in the corner in silence. His shoulders were lax and it looked as if the man was sleeping, but behind the helmeted gaze… who could tell? "Tythus… I want you to lead the second squad. Look for any traces from the Cathar Jedi. Perel and Marec will go with you."

Two beings jumped up… the first one, Perel, was a blond Amazonian-looking female. She was even taller than Allara, over two meters tall with an angry glare burning in her blue eyes, and on her body she wore grey Syntheskin body armor. Two belts were strapped closely to her form, one at her waist and the other across her left shoulder to the waist. Along the length of each belt, sheathed at metered intervals, dazzling vicious knives hung in a sparkling array. Each knife was a thin sliver of a blade, made of a titanium and cortosis alloy; they did not have handles, which meant each had to be expertly held so as not to cut oneself while using it. Perel was a master of using these blades and used little else. Many of the group had chided her about not using a blaster, but they all knew she was capable of throwing those little knives with a precision and speed to rival any automatic blasters. Next to Perel stood a short and stoic looking Bith who wore a simple white business suit; Marec was once a scientist, whose talents were recruited by Allara for more… duplicitous means. He joined her cause without question and had turned out to be an able shot with a blaster rifle; however, Marec's true use lay in his abilities with technologies. He could rig a deadly grenade from scrape components in seconds…among other things, and this reason was why Allara wanted the man to search for the Jedi Master. If the Cathar had survived the blast somehow-- Marec would be able to track him. The Bith had a pieced together a theory over the years: every species in the galaxy left behind a subatomic signature of their life… it was as fleeting as time itself, but it was basically a map, detailing their comings and goings throughout the galaxy. So far his theory had held up, and as such Marec was the best tracker Allara had ever seen.

The black armored solder stood up from his secluded corner and walked over to the two beings, briefly stopping by his leader to mutter appreciation, "Thank you… Allara."

The bronzed haired femme nodded at the thanks, "Do your brother proud, Tythus… but don't let a desire for revenge put the others at risk. No one life is worth more than the whole effort, and we are all needed to finish our goal."

"I never do…" the man said coldly before nodding to his two squad members, "Let's go."

As the trio of lethal hunters stalked from the apartment, Allara turned her attention back to Rhiar. The Twi'lek and her squad had all changed into the inconspicuous browns and blacks of city clothes; they looked like a collage of denizens from different worlds, but they wouldn't look conspicuous in Abregado-rae's populace. "Good, report in on the half hour and call if you need support."

"Will do, ma'am," Rhiar saluted and holstered a pistol inside the fold of her jacket. Her group exited quickly, quietly and were forgotten by the time Allara turned around.

"Lovast, I want a surveillance sweep… program to look for physical descriptions, specific dialogue—if anyone mentions Cathar, Zabrak or Jedi… I want to know, and get me their location. The rest of you prepare to leave at the drop of a hat!" Allara watched intently as Lovast hooked up their custom made device. It was a small slicer program that infiltrated a planetary security network, piggybacking on the service signals, and gave access to all systems. With it the Toran'ak could be everywhere, they were everywhere… and with a few simple, programmed hits—no one would escape for long.

-- -- -- -- -- --

"And you are going to have it to the dock by 1500 Coruscant time, Davl'ier… No exceptions."

The Duros shopkeeper nodded emphatically to his customer, "Oh yes! Of course Miz Cairee!! Without a doubt! It is such an honor to receive the patronage you bring!"

The blue skinned Nautolan did her best not to turn a nose up at the sniveling little shopkeeper. Nemoidians and Duros always put her in a foul mood, as if flattery didn't cover up the stench of their profiteering. The Captain of the _Sun's Fare_ and leader of the Trader's Guild shrugged into the newly purchased black, Nek leather jacket she had just purchased. It set against her blue skin, making Cai appear more vibrant in color as she eyed the sleeze before her, "Just make sure it's there."

Turning on her heel, the Nautolan's black military boots carried her out of the shop with a measured beat of determination… and barreled her right into the body of a cloaked figure. The two landed sprawled on the permacrete street outside of the shop; Cai atop the stranger as she looked down into the face of the being she had so rudely bowled over. Her large, round onyx eyes peered into the emerald cat-like orbs of a Cathar—a white Cathar who appeared to be in pain. "Mistress Cai…" the feline entity grunted, she couldn't tell whether from pain or her weight on top of him, "How nice to see you again…"

With fluidity and grace, the Trader removed herself from the Jedi and stood up. She did not bother with brushing off, rather she bent over and hooked a hand under his right shoulder, to pull him up off the ground where he lay. This action released a roar of pain from the Cathar, startling the denizens around him. "Master Jedi…" Cai's perceptive gaze landed on the shoulder with a violent looking shaft of metal jutting out of it, "Just what have you been up to since we parted ways?" The Cathar Jedi's shoulder was covered in warm blood, and the Nautolan was willing to bet that it was only a fraction of the damage that she could see. It was amazing the Jedi could still stand.

"Unnh…" the Feline groaned as he got to his feet, replacing the hood about his head. The Jedi's robes were scorched, charred through with black lined holes in several places and singed from brown to black in others. Now that Cai could get a proper look at him, Jedi looked as if he'd clawed his way out of hell.

The Jedi tried to take a beleaguered step forward, but he stumbled. Cai was caught the felinoid man, finding herself hard pressed to hold his weight upright--as she fighting gravity and the man's unconsciousness. "Sith spawn! You're torn up worse than a bag of sirloin in a gundark's nest!"

"You know me…" the Jedi mumbled, "Life of the par…tee--" With that he slipped into unconsciousness, leaving the Nautolan captain to support his weight.

_"Great…"_ Cai thought, as she pulled the Jedi through the street. Not only did she have to carry his weight, but whatever had done this to a Jedi Master could be following right behind him. _"Just great…"_ she muttered, _"And how in the hell someone as short as you can weigh so much Jedi… only the Force… will know!"_ Cathar were normally a tall species, but this Jedi was about Cai's height... barely taller than a meter and a half... but he weighed enough to rival a Gamorrean--at least that was how the Nautolan felt under her current burden. The only wondrous thing about her situation, Cai surmised, was that a tiny flophouse sat only a short distance down the street. Once she had managed to drag the Cathar to the front door, the staff was more than willing to help her get him inside—the staff consisting of a teenage luggage boy, who was yelled at from behind the main counter, by an elderly human with liver spots on his skin.

"Boy! Help get them customers inside!"

"Yessir!" the young kid hooked an arm under the Cathar's other shoulder, and, with the extra effort, Cai hauled the Jedi inside.

"Fifty credits for a room for a day," the old man grumbled with a deep guttural voice.

Cai wasn't too caring about the room at this particular moment, "Does your facility offer medical droid assistance?"

"Gotta get a room to use the medical droid," liver spots snorted, wiping a finger across his nose. He worked a stained white shirt, unbuttoned and revealing a mass of grey chest hair that the Nautolan found exceedingly unappealing—to the point it almost made her want to flee the premises.

"_Know this Jedi… I would never come here in my life. You owe me…" _she thought to herself. Sighing with disgust, Cai removed her credit case from the clasp on her belt and pressed the required amount on the registry counter, pinning them so the slum dog couldn't pilfer them without giving her the required information. "The med-droid?"

"Down the hall… boy will show you," he muttered, making the credits vanish in a feat so fast it could have been magic.

"Owe you…" the Cathar muttered in his delirium, his head falling to the side as Cai hoisted him to the corridor. The phrase startled the normally resolute Nautolan. Surely she hadn't said that out loud—no she was positive that she had not spoken such a thing, and there was no way he could read her mind… was there? Perhaps the Jedi was just commenting that he owed her in some way, yes, that was it. Not wanting to dwell on the freaky thoughts of Jedi powers, Cai made her trip to the med room as hastily as could be without dropping her cargo.

The med room, if it could be called a room, was more like a closet. The med droid was a mounted torso in an alcove; it could rotate at the base, and it leaned over a thin cot where patients would be laid. Being as gentle as possible in the confined space, Cai laid the feline Jedi on his back and let the medical droid do its work. Time dragged its precious ass as Cai stood outside, leaning through the doorway as she waited for the droid to give her a prognosis. It seemed like hours, it could have been, and every time a shady person came down the corridor, Cai's hand dropped to her blaster. She didn't know why, but something about the Jedi and his condition caused a sense of awareness and fear to well up inside of her stomach.

Something, something vicious or deadly—or both, had managed to mangle this Jedi. Anything in this galaxy with that kind of skill… it wasn't something Cai had any desire to meet. Shaking her head, the Nautolan's head tentacles fell about her back and shoulders in a random assortment. She was in the middle of a deep sigh when the medical droid's electronic voice cut the tense personal silence, "I have finished examination."

"How is he?"

"The patient has been wounded in the shoulder," The droids voice was broken by static, but despite it being an older model, Cai could still understand what was being said. "I have successfully removed the foreign metal object. Upon entry, the foreign object several a major artery and destroyed several ligaments and tendons. The bleeding was profuse; the patient lost a large amount of blood. It is apparent that he moved for several hours after the injury, which resulted in further damage—it is a surprise he is still living. Aside from the potentially lethal damage, he has suffered several minor burns of the first degree, two major burns of the second degree, and a large gash on his lower right pleuron."

"Will he live?"

"Madam…" the droid's monotone voice almost sounded sarcastic, "I may be an older model Em-Dee, but that does not diminish my skills." With a sharp, jerky motion the droid pointed the Cathar's shoulder which was bandaged and bare. The Droid had even folded the Jedi's brown outer robes and the top, white linen tunic into a neat pile. "He will survive, but he needs rest. I've given him a mild sedative, and he should awaken within three to five hours given his tolerance to the drug."

The Nautolan nodded, eyeing the Jedi's sleeping form and forcing her gaze back onto the MD droid before she began thinking things she shouldn't. Cai was a very deviant member of her species. Many had respectable jobs, careers, even vocations… some were prominent Jedi now and in the past; but, being the individual that she was, Cai tended to air on the side of difference. She wasn't going to add another blemish to her sordid life's history. In the past she was many unscrupulous things, but now she was trying to turn her life around—even though she was nothing more than a glorified trader on a world run by smugglers and con men. "Good," she nodded, turning to leave, "I'll be waiting outside. Tell him that when he wakes."

"I'm a medical professional, Miss Nautolan, not an errand droid."

"Just do it," she snipped coldly, leaving before the piece of scrap could add another witty retort. Cai left the medical closet and hit the latch on the door, closing it behind her before she went to plop sullenly on the bench in the corridor. The blue skinned alien un-holstered her blaster, holding the silver Nubian weapon loosely in her hands and spinning it slowly between her delicate fingers. "How do you get yourself into these situations, Cairee?" she muttered to herself. Scoffing at the irony that her life had been, the Nautolan wondered why she was still trying to go straight. It seemed that time after time her life would do a one-eighty, yet fate still decided to play games with her. She wondered absentmindedly what the rules of this next game were going to be….

-- -- -- -- -- --

Explosions.

Fire and destruction all around, L'loria sat huddled in a corner of a deserted alleyway as the visions of the past hours played through her mind again and again. The padawan's bright silver hair was mussed and dust colored; her robes were filthy from all the running, jumping and rolling they had done to escape their pursuers, and for what? Now L'loria found herself completely alone, witness to not one but several brutal murders… who knew if her master was alive or dead?

Feelings of uselessness washed over her as she sat in the dark. L'loria had learned at the temple about the bond between a master and a padawan; she was supposed to be able to feel if Sylir was alive or not, but she couldn't feel anything. It was pathetic to sit here alone and cry over her misfortune; after all she was the one who had wanted a more exciting mission. Jedi did not wallow in self-pity. Pushing herself to her feet, the little Zabrak clipped her lightsaber to her belt and ran her fingers through her hair to make it look less of a wreck. The last thing she wanted was to be sticking out in the crowd because of her appearance—

L'loria was immediately struck with an idea. "I need to change," she muttered, "and then I have to get to the Trade District… I promised Master Sylir that I would." And with that thought she dashed out of the alley with her plan firmly placed in her mind.

-- -- -- -- -- --

"So Master Cross," the flashy reporter shoved an auto-recorder into the Jedi master's face, "What do you have to say about the Jedi and their return to the position of the galaxy's police force?"

Grand Master Dain Cross's face was mixture of disbelief and dismay as he stared into the lens of the HoloNet droid who was taking every second of the interview and flashing it out to the screens of thousands of viewers throughout the galaxy. The skyscene of Coruscant as a backdrop only furthered to make this look one of incredulity. The human Jedi, in his mid-thirties, ran a hand through his short brown hair and sighed deeply, "Ma'am… it is precisely these kinds of questions that are making the transition so difficult."

"Why whatever do you mean?" the reporter asked with a sickeningly fake smile. Her cheeks were stretched as far as her face would allow, showing nearly all of her pearly white teeth. She wore a cheap suit that made her look flashy, and her black hair was cut in a bob that was short in the back and became longer the closer it got to her chin… and she just kept smiling.

Dain decided that he'd had quite enough of this interview, "What I mean: is that it's reporters like you who are out to stir up trouble. It's not like the war was hard enough on the people, or that we lost thousands of lives trying to give you the freedom--that you are exercising now with this sham of an interview. You and I both know that you will go back to your sad little cubicle, and you will print an article for tomorrow's daily—the light is already cast in your mind, and you won't give a damn how many people you frighten or whose lives you destroy. You're just out to sell your story and your name and I won't add any more fuel to that fire." With a flurry of brown traditional robes, the Jedi turned and left the reporter standing there; her jaw dropped--nothing else to say.

"Thank goodness that is over," Dain muttered to himself.

"That wasn't too Jedi-like, Master Cross," a being muttered, coming up to Dain's side and joining him with his walk.

The Grand master turned and saw a silver haired Wookiee in long white Jedi robes towering above him. "Ah! Zallar! I thought you were out on assignment?"

The silver Wookiee's fur was dark, much like liquid mercury as it flowed on his body; the furry being stood a good two and a third meters tall, and it almost looked comical to see this elegant and imposing Jedi walking next to the just under two meter human. Zallar was another member of the current Jedi Council, and he was a masterful warrior, having proved himself time and time again. Dain had known the hairy wonder since their time on Degobah nearly fifteen years ago, when Master Yoda had started travelling out to find adolescent and older Force sensitives to train. The small green Jedi master had wanted to revive the old order, but with what he had to work with… he'd created something else entirely. Yes, the Jedi had returned, but it was not the same as the Order from the past. At one time, and Dain smiled at the thought, Yoda had claimed the new order to be better… not because of morals or ability, but because it was more honest with itself.

"I would not miss the memorial for anything," the Wookie snorted, speaking perfect basic. Zallar had always prided himself for being more educated than most of his species.

Wookiees were known for being incredibly honorable, loyal, good mechanics and even better with electronic; they built natural technology—a mixture organics and metallics, and the Kashyyyk people built magnificent ships. The Wookiee mechanics were so highly efficient that Palpatine had nearly enslaved the entire race to build a pet project—which thank the Force they had been able to destroy before it was completed, but that victory did not come without price. Dain sighed, "That is true, my friend, with you here now… the entire council will be present for the commemoration. At least you can be here to keep me in line, no?"

Zallar chuckled, the sound soft and woofing, "It would take the whole council just to perform that feat I'm afraid. You're more of a handful than the entire youngling academy."

"I can't believe it's been almost a year since Palpatine's defeat… to think that we can even have a youngling academy…" the Grand Master trailed off, letting the other share his thoughts.

"But we've lost so many close friends in the battle, and so many more are missing," the Wookie frowned, his brow creasing which caused all of the fur on his face to pull in towards his eyes.

"You are referring to An'ya Kuro, the Dark Woman?"

Nodding passively, Zallar reached the awaiting air taxi and allowed Dain to enter first, "She among others... the Dark Woman showed up and was imperative in helping train us… and yet, after all of it was over—Palpatine and Virtra—she vanished, along with others."

At the mention of the latter name, Dain's face became very dark. The Jedi did not like remembering the things that had happened during those dark times, a time when things looked as if they would forever be shrouded by evil. Darth Virtra—the name invoked fear in every Jedi alive, and the entity had almost become a catastrophe. So many good Jedi had died at the hands of that monster: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Shaak Ti, Philia Moore… and many of the younger more inexperienced. Darkness had been closing in on both sides, two different Sith entities clawing for one another as they threatened to tear the galaxy, and the Jedi, apart in their personal war.

Then Virtra vanished without a trace. There was no explanation; no one saw her… it was almost as if she never existed. Palpatine's forces had been weakened through the conflict; however, an opportunity that the fledgling rebellion and the newly fashioned Jedi had taken advantage of. There was a large battle in dead space, surrounding the Emperor's unfinished battle system: the Death Star. The Rebellion forces, lead by Bail Organa and several other planetary leaders, engaged a small Imperial fleet of about twenty Star Destroyers. The Empire had not been expecting the move.

As the Rebel and Imperial forces engaged each other over the space station; the Jedi unit infiltrated the infrastructure of the planet-sized weapon and made their way to he observation tower where Palpatine and his lapdog Vader were watching the battle above. The Jedi strike team, headed by Master Yoda, had offered the Sith the chance to surrender—which the two dark lords had declined. With twelve of the more accomplished knights, Dain and Zallar included, the Jedi engaged the Sith in a long and drawn out battle… which resulted in the death of both Yoda and Palpatine, the two avatars of light and darkness destroying one another—more appropriately, Yoda sacrificed his already long life to save the galaxy from the tyranny of the Sith. Vader, who had been wounded severely, opted to retreat—killing Dania Lorne in the process. Dania had been Zallar's best friend. Dain had the memory of woman's face, pale with cold death, flash through his mind. How the Wookiee had not broken--such strength was miraculous to him, and that strength was why the Grand Master respected his furry companion and any advice he had to offer.

The mood had become somber, neither Jedi feeling much cheer. Their past was filled with bitter spaces of darkness, none of which were close to being filled; many denizens' lives were the same way… others were worse off, some had fared better. "At least now we have the chance to rebuild--to help the galaxy become what they died fighting for," the human spoke finally.

"So the turn out for the Memorial has been good?" Zallar questioned. "How many others are still out on assignment?" It was quite apparent that both of them wanted to exit the morbid wanderings of their minds, to take a different train of thought into something with a brighter future. As their air taxi sped through the Coruscant skylines, the Wookie looked around him and noticed for the first time, in a long time, that the future was far brighter than any vial of glitterstim could hope to be.

"Nearly everyone has returned to Coruscant for the ceremony," Dain mentally when through the list of everyone who hadn't checked back into the Temple through the past week's events. "Aside from the Vanished… there are two teams out on assignment still. Maris Brood and her padawan contacted the Temple this morning; they are due in this evening, and Master Sylir and his padawan were due to return this afternoon; however they have yet to contact us."

"It's quite possible that the negotiations are taking longer than initially predicted," Zallar offered.

Dain nodded, "Those are my thoughts as well. If they were in trouble, I'm more than certain they would have attempted to contact us by now. I just hope they make it in time for the ceremony tomorrow."

-- -- -- -- -- --

L'loria exited the small hole-in-the-wall shop that sold assorted necessities, to travelers and citizens alike. Their selection had been rather limited so the girl was now wearing a baggy, one piece tunic made of a rough black fabric, and it made her look puffy, like a being from one of those desert planets in the Core systems. She hadn't had much money so she had to keep the standard woven pants from the Temple and her boots, but the tunic was long enough that it hung down to her knees. With the last of her emergency funds, the little Zabrak had purchased a map-pad and a red-black, harlequin printed beret which she placed over her horns, pulling it down over her elfish ears as well. The Jedi padawan now looked like a pauper child or at least a well accomplished street urchin, something that would go majorly unnoticed amongst the populace of Abregado-rae.

Her lightsaber had been a problem because wearing it on her belt would have screamed attention from their pursuers, but if she had placed it under her tunic she would never be able to draw it in time… so she had shoved it in her sleeve, knowing that she could use the Force to bring it to bear quickly. Hopefully, if the Force was willing, she wouldn't have to use it.

She was following the directions on the pad, making her way slowly to the Trade District, when she looked up and saw a group of offworlders traveling about the shops. It looked as if they were browsing, glancing through the windows and murmuring to one another in an off-hand manner; however, to the trained eye, L'loria could tell that they were surveying the crowded people around them. They were searching for someone: her. It was then that she recognized the red Twi'lek leading the group, only this time she was wearing civilian clothes rather than menacing body armor and two shoulder cannons that could have cut her in half. Ducking her head to look at the map in her hands, the padawan moved slowly and deliberately with the crowd, hoping that none of the hunters would notice her as she passed by.

Everything was fine, L'loria found herself in the clear until she stumbled into the being in front of her. She had been so preoccupied with avoiding the group of hunters that she hadn't been paying attention. The angry denizen, a Rodian with more purple than green on his skin, turned around and backhanded the small girl. The Force of the strike sent her reeling and knocked her hat off. L'loria braced herself against the window of a shop, a hand coming up to hold her face; at that time she looked into the glass reflection and saw the red Twi'lek woman looking directly at her.

In a blur of motion the red skinned alien drew a DL-22 blaster, depressing the trigger and firing off a scarlet bolt in her direction. Only with the speed allowed from the Force, the padawan was able to drop her legs out from under her, falling to the floor. The bolt buzzed over her head, melting through the glass as L'loria rolled backward. She came up with her lightsaber ignited, batting away two blaster bolts into the air as they were fired in her direction before she fled into the mass of startled and confused beings.

-- -- -- -- -- --

The rest of the scouting squad drew their weapons to fire at the Jedi, but Rhiar quickly pushed down the arm of a human male closest to her. "No you fools, don't shoot!" the Twi'lek hissed, her coal colored irises staring them all down, "Just follow her!" With that, Rhiar took off at a breaking speed, chasing the tiny Zabrak through the crowd.

It was difficult to keep an eye on the tiny alien. The target was already challenging enough, being aided by the Force, but her tiny stature gave her an advantage in this large crowd. The Twi'lek female pulled a comlink from her belt as the other members of her squad began to fan out and push their way through the crowd. "Contact central… this is Rhiar. We've sighted minor target and are pursuing along shopping lane east headed for the Trade District. We need a push to keep her from getting to far."

"Copy that, Rhiar," Lovast's voice came over the comm channel with perfect clarity. "Allara is leaving now."

"Good…" she ended the transmission and snapped the comlink back to her belt, just as she got a view of the Jedi girl. Flicking her weapon to high stun, Rhiar planed her feet and fired off a shot. The blast would have hit the girl between the shoulder blades if an idiotic pedestrian hadn't ran screaming like a damn fool into the line of her shot. The random Bothan crumpled from the stun bolt and the Jedi was lost amidst the crowd once again.

"Di'kut!" the Twi'lek cursed, kicking the unconscious alien as she ran past him. She pulled up her wrist and spoke into the squad communicator, "Does anyone have a visual?"

"I sssee the Jedi," her Trandoshan squad mate hissed through the channel.

"Alright… converge on Varesk's position. Whatever you do don't lose her," Rhiar muttered, picking up the pace to catch up with the fleeing quarry. The Zabrak girl was only delaying the inevitable; time was running out and sooner or later the inexperienced girl would make a mistake. When she did make one, the Jedi would find out that the Force would not be enough to save her.

There was a blur from the crowd as what looked to be a bundle of cloth leapt out of the throng of hectic bodies. "She isss taking to the roofs," Varesk called out through the squad chatter. This obvious declaration of the current development only caused Rhiar to roll her eyes in annoyance.

"Van and Tom," she called to the two human males of her group, "Take the alleyway and make sure that she doesn't try to slip onto the opposing street. Varesk, Calixa," She called to the Trandoshan male and the red scaled Barabel female still with her, "Keep to this street and don't let her out of your sight!" Calixa had already faced the Jedi once, and Rhiar knew she would not let the girl out of her keen sight. Barabel, as a species, were extremely proud. Having lost the Jedi once--she wouldn't do so again.

Rhiar didn't wait for the explosion of chatter that she knew was going to come her way; the Twi'lek was already in motion for her own role in pinning the Jedi. With a running leap, she propelled herself onto a dumpster in the alley nearest to her; using the momentum from her leap, Rhiar pushed off towards the opposite wall and acrobatically launched herself into a backwards leap to the rooftops. As she neared the end of her dive, the Twi'lek tucked herself into a ball and hit the hard surface rolling. She instantly came up into a crouch, the blaster pointed in the direction of the fleeing Jedi.

However, the Zabrak dropped to a lower rooftop before Rhiar could get off a clear shot. With a snarl and a string of curses, the red skinned alien pulled herself to her feet and sped after the padawan. Feet pounding the rooftop, the hunter found that her natural athletic abilities were strained far greater than the Jedi's when it came from getting to the next building. As she landed, the force of the impact jarring her shins, Rhiar noticed that the Jedi wasn't in her forward line of sight any longer.

"What in the—??" The Twi'lek spun suddenly as she heard a humming noise behind her, and the reaction was just in time because had Rhiar wasted even a microsecond more—the silver blade of a lightsaber would have cut her in half. As it was Rhiar jumped back, sucking in her stomach to barely avoid the death dealing stroke, and she fired off a retaliatory shot from her blaster. The Jedi didn't seem to want to prolong their engagement Rhiar deduced, ducking as the silver haired child flipped over he head and tried to cut off her lekku.

"You're lucky I don't have my weapons, Jedi," the Twi'lek hissed under her breath, chasing after the girl once again; incidentally, Rhiar was the lucky one… and that thought made her rage subside momentarily. The Jedi probably didn't know the advantage she had at the moment. Rhiar and the other hunters, as good as they were, did not have half of their equipment or weapons. With their need to pass as civilians they had inadvertently left themselves vulnerable, but the Jedi wasn't thinking about this. The small Jedi child was thinking that these were the same people that hunted her and her master earlier—she was being hunted now, and this time her master was not here to cover an escape. The padawan was alone… and they all knew it.

In a matter of moments they had run out of roof space, the next building lay a good distance across a crowded square, thriving with the activity of hundreds of beings. Rhiar was partially winded as she caught up to the Jedi girl, her blaster poised to fire. The Zabrak was weighing her options, and the Twi'lek prayed to whatever deity's existed that the Jedi couldn't make that kind of jump—apparently the Jedi was wishing she could. Rhiar's tensed and she fired a blast at the girl's back, but it was too much to hope that it would be so easy. The Jedi spun around in an elegant spin, the child looking as if she were dancing, and blocked the crimson bolt into the air. The child dropped into a defensive stance and stared down her Twi'lek assailant.

Rhiar instantly went defensive, holding her blaster out before her, preparing for what she knew would be one of their deaths when suddenly Calixa's deep reptilian voice came over the private channel their squad was connected to. "Rhiar… we have the building surrounded. If she makes a leap we'll nail her. Allara just contacted us and they are only minutes away… don't do anything foolish."

"Foolish. Right," the Twi'lek murmured. She was trying to keep a Jedi from escaping… that wasn't foolish right? No, Rhiar had to surmise that it was pretty much suicide to attempt such a thing without a small arsenal, and yet here she was—facing down the small Jedi with nothing but a DL blaster and her wits. "Should be a piece of cake…"

-- -- -- -- -- --

L'loria's eyes darted from side-to-side. She knew that it was imperative that she get off this roof and across the courtyard. The Trade District gates were only a few hundred yards away, yet she was trapped here on this roof—hunters all around her on the ground level and a psychotic Twi'lek woman with a blaster trained on her. The padawan knew that she'd have some chance, perhaps she could backtrack and get to a different street: she had to get rid of this woman.

_There is nothing wrong with defending your life against someone who does wrong._

Her master's words suddenly came back to her at this moment, and L'loria felt deep reassurance in the Force that if she were to ever take a life—this would be the one time when it wasn't going to be an act worth feeling guilty about. The Zabrak didn't want to do it, and she knew deep in her heart that it would take a long time to get over the guilt of killing this woman; however, she also knew that if she didn't get out of here—her days as a Jedi, or as a member of the living, would be over.

Summoning the Force about her, L'loria threw out a hand. The padawan felt the threads of existence that bound her and this hunter, that wished to take her life, together. In her mind, the L'loria wrapped her hand around the enemy's weapon and tugged with all her might—and, much to the Twi'lek hunter's surprise, an invisible force ripped the blaster from her red hands and threw it over the edge of the building's roof. Seeing the clean opening, L'loria lunged with the Force—prepared to dispatch her pursuer so she could escape.

The padawan never covered half the distance between her and her attacker. There was the soft scream of a blaster pistol being fired and L'loria watched in slow motion as scarlet blaster fire burned into the handle of her lightsaber—instantly extinguishing the radiant silver blade. The girl was marveled for all of a moment before a second incandescent bolt struck her in the chest, burning a conflagrant and charred hole in her left shoulder. The force of the blaster hit knocked the Zabrak girl flat on the metal roof, her back arching with the pain burning its way through her nerves; L'loria could feel tears welling up in her eyes.

She could hear the sound of something like spaceship thrusters, a soft and thrumming noise. The padawan painfully craned her neck to see what had happened—just as the red armored Mandalorian commando landed on the roof. The looming, impassive figure killed the flames of fuel to the armor's jetpack, as heavy booted feet landed with a _THWOM_ of deep and resounding, basaltic tones. The unknown person turned that emotionless gaze upon the fallen padawan, and L'loria could see her own fear and demise reflected in that cold T-visor. Her shoulder was torn from the blaster bolt, ablaze with intense pain, but the padawan found her attention mesmerized—her gaze hypnotically focused on the thin, black barrel of the blaster in the clawed, metallic copper hand. The weapon was pointed directed at L'loria's head, and the padawan had a feeling of something very calming but extraordinarily frightening at the same time: she was going to die.

"I know that you probably have no idea why this is happening," the cold, monotonous voice cracked out from the helmet. It was more frightening than the voice recording she had heard of Darth Vader, and the padawan was quite certain than this entity could inspire that same fear if it so wished. It was a sadistic thought, but L'loria would much rather be killed by Vader than this emotionless and methodic predator. "I would hold nothing against you if you hated me for this," the voice continued, "But your life is a very small price to pay… and this is only the beginning."

And it was.

With the simple act of pulling the trigger, as the blaster struck the padawan in the forehead—it was the beginning of everything new. For L'loria… her life among the Jedi was over and her life among the Force began. For those still left in the galaxy—it was the beginning of a new and haunting era… one in which those who had control over the Force found themselves hunted. Those infamous people who flaunted control over miraculous powers…

...That control had just become their doom.


	3. Of Dark Resolutions

**As always... just skip this if you aren't interested in what I care to ramble about.**

This is the one shot Dark Resolutions that a wrote about... oh three months ago. I has one of my favorite cannon characters in it: An'ya Kuro, the Dark Woman. (whom I do not own, nor do I own anything from the Star Wars universe. Bicara, however, does belong to me) I really liked this and it was an exercise in practicing a fight sequence... but once I started writing SoA... I had an idea of how to add this in here and EXPAND it... giving my story more than one plot concern. I have the major concern, and then I have a subplot now... and I think that it gives my story a little more depth. It's basically a nice scene between these two characters who have been playing cat-and-mouse for about ten years... and the game if finally coming to an end. What that end means is confusing... but I will iron it out through the story I promise. A little background on Bicara... she was a Sith Lord trained by Darth Virtra (you've heard me mention her in the story, yes? You've seen that I have a new Story published about her, yes?)... and Virtra's Sith have been pretty much erased ever since their master vanished (which we don't know why). Bicara is the last known Virtrian Sith remaining and An'ya has been hunting her for a long time. The Dark Woman has always been a Jedi who marched ot the beat of her own gungan drum... and this time it's no difference. The interesting thing about Bicara is that she is a power house when it comes to using the Force (her title was the Lord of Decay, and she had this lovely little ability to disrupt an opponent's connection to the Force...) a major big gun with Force powers, however, she's completely dependent upon the Force... which hampers her when thrown into a lightsaber duel. Just wanted to throw that in here... any how, moving on!

I'm really excited to let people read this; although I'm a little disappointed in the number of actual reviews. I get on and check my traffic and it says: YAY!! 20 people have hit your story... but no reviews. It's like opening a christmas present only to find you've been given socks. I'm not complaining!! Cause I have gotten reviews which is really nice... but I'm a woman who likes shoes (and like reviews I always want more!). **I would like to say thank you to realfanficts, Mirwen Sunrider, Derek Metaltron, and PollyWantCookie for their reviews and their interest in my story!! **Much thanks to you all!!

And now without further ramblings... I give you Dark Resolutions!!

_**~Sarai~**_

* * *

Zeltros…

From space it looked like a pink jewel, alight with the fire coveted by many collectors, a vibrant sphere of wonders. On the surface… it was a place where monogamy was a sin and logic was found far and few between. Pleasure ruled this world, no matter how many monarchs the Zeltrons elected. A luxury world they called it—and it was. Zeltros offered pleasures that defied the imagination; excitement only found in your dreams. It was an emotional surplus… and it was a perfect place if you were a Sith Lord looking to hide.

An'ya Kuro stepped off the luxury cruise liner onto the surface of the planet and was immediately swept into the current party. Raging their way through the streets, Zeltrons danced and sang, carrying tourists of all species with them. Music blared, laughter sang through the air, and all around the Jedi master: a blur of vibrant colors. An'ya closed her eyes to avoid sensory overload, searching out through the Force for her quarry. Knowing that she was being hunted, Bicara wasn't keen to access the Force, and, with the storm of surging emotions, the dark lord was well hidden.

"Damn…" she muttered to herself. It had been ten years in the making… since she left Coruscant. An'ya had recommended Triskal for the trials, and no sooner had the padawan become a knight, then An'ya had vanished—nothing more than a hologram of congratulations. The Jedi seemed content to just accept Metus and Virtra as being gone, which was good in itself; but An'ya knew that there was one other Sith Lord out there with the power to wreak havoc upon the galaxy: Darth Bicara, Virtra's other hand. The others were willing to wait before taking out the Sith, which would have given her a chance to build a power base, potentially killing more Jedi in the process of finishing something that should have been over before it had a chance to begin. In this: An'ya refused to wait.

She tracked the Sith Lord from Dathomir, to Korriban, to Antares, across the Corellian Trade Route to Ryloth, to the dark side planet of Ambria when the Sith had actually stood and fought—An'ya had almost ended it there, but Bicara was smart. The Sith always had a plan. A victory had nearly become death, and it had given Bicara all the time she needed to flee yet again. It confused the Jedi Master… the Sith hadn't tried to finish her off; rather she just ran yet again. Now they were here on Zeltros, a ten year game coming to end, and An'ya had no idea where to find her quarry.

The Jedi opened her eyes, the silver discs scanning the crowd, the Sith was no where within sight… not that she had expected it to be that easy. Bicara was built of a superior mettle. She'd find these displays of revelry and vulgarity to be beneath her… literally. The Jedi Master expected that the Sith would have a private room, somewhere high, so that she could look down upon the masses and sneer. That thought gave An'ya an idea. She moved move silently through the crowd, looking for the nearest hotel with a computer terminal.

The Zeltron Arms, a jest at the expense of many subjects, was a luxury hotel that catered to those whom would be considered: less fortunate. What they were saying to the galaxy? If you are poor, you can still come to Zeltros: come to The Zeltron Arms. An'ya had little need for what the hotel had to offer, as far as amenities went, she was only interested in getting to her room and accessing the computer terminal. The turbolift shot her up to the third floor rapidly and she walked directly to her room, the numeral system designed so that the stupidest creatures of any race could understand. Once inside she removed the black travelling cloak she was wearing.

The elder Jedi master let her silver hair fall down over her shoulders, it had been that color for as long as she could remember, and reminded herself that once this hunt was over… she go have it cut back to a shorter length. Under the cloak she did not wear Jedi robes; she'd taken those and stored them away for a later date. She now preferred to wear clothes that allowed her to blend in with the local populace. To this matter she now wore a lilac top, embroidered with silver floral patterns. When the fabric reached her waist, it split into five pieces of cloth that draped down to her knees. While not Jedi robes, the outfit felt similar enough that she was comfortable in it. Under the top she wore a pair of tight black leggings and a pair of black leather travelling shoes. She would look like a woman here for a holiday, but she was dressed for leaping into action at any time.

Bicara might not be using the Force enough for An'ya to locate her, but the Jedi Master had little doubt that the Sith knew she was here. Time was of the essence; An'ya had to find the Sith before she managed to escape.

Sitting down at the computer terminal in the room, the Jedi's face was lit with the soft blue glow of the terminal light. With a few deft key strokes, she pulled up the Interplanetary Travel and Customs Department of Zeltros. An'ya doubted that Bicara had used her own name, but, with some luck, she could pull up the passenger lists and match physical characteristics. It didn't matter how well Bicara changed her appearance. Hair color, eye color, voice pattern… the Sith had one distinguishing characteristic that An'ya could hunt: her tattoos. Those were one of a kind, fashioned with the use of the dark side in a way that only baffled the Jedi master. It was painful, she knew that much from one of her conversations with Bicara.

The search would not be a quick one, but she could easily narrow it down to two characteristics as she hacked into the database: human and female. Surprisingly the list, while shorter, did not seem any less daunting. She tried a name search, which yielded nothing. Bicara was apparently not a name ANYONE would curse their children with, thank the Force. She then tried several of the aliases used by the Sith in previous encounters. Several hits, but none of the hits ended up being the quarry. She ran a physical characteristic check and came up with a list of three names, one standing out among the rest: Ciraba Thrad. An'ya felt certain she'd found who she was looking for… and also a trap.

The screen said that Ciraba had purchased a private vista on the outskirts of the Capitol. Which meant that she was either hoping to lure An'ya there, while she was living elsewhere… or the Sith held the same goal she did: it was going to be finished here.

**Chateau** **Dégosore**…House of Horror.

There was little left to the imagination as to why Bicara had purchased this secluded place. Apparently Zeltrons didn't feel that murder made property very desirable… apparently they didn't know how to market to Bicara's former community. The house was beautifully designed, with dark stones and polished wood, and it sat next to a small beach. The house was surrounded by trees in the front and two jutting cliff faces at the beach… no wonder someone had picked this place for a murder either. You could scream for hours and possibly no one would hear you.

An'ya walked tentatively up the white stone path that led to the vista's entrance. There were no signs of a trap, a quick reading revealed nothing more than a single person in the house, and she could see no evidence of battle droids… but that didn't mean a trap was impossible. The Jedi master removed her ornately crafted lightsaber, holding the green flora hilt loosely in her right hand, and used the Force to nudge the front doors open. Entry to the foyer was granted without any resistance; An'ya walked in quietly, her eyes picking up everything.

A high vaulted ceiling was supported by dark wood columns, painted with a dark, rustic red. An'ya was careful to step lightly, not wanting to make alerting footsteps on the polished white tile. The walls were hung with exotic paintings, tables with floral arrangements, and mirrors of varying sizes… all covered with a fine layer of dust. It was a good cover… any prying eyes would think that no one bothered to live here. An'ya moved through the foyer, the only light was that pouring from the windows in the main doors, her surroundings cast in an eerie light. There was no light to be found in the main atrium, the Force showed her that there was a large staircase with a wrought iron handrail leading up to the second floor. The Jedi made for its direction with a cold voice slithered from the shadows, "Don't bother…Jedi. I'm not going to make you hunt. We both know that this is the end of the line for our… game."

An'ya turned slowly as a candle was lit; illuminating the face of the woman she had been hunting for ten years: Darth Bicara. The years had been kind to the woman, or perhaps the dark side was being kind, now that the Sith had abandoned her attempts at hiding… she didn't look a day older than the first time An'ya had seen her.

Darth Bicara was an exotic breed, her pale skin was white as snow and unblemished, but neither did her veins show through that pale complexion… rather it was ornamented with a scrolling work of blue tattoos, which seemed to have no beginning and no end. The blue snaking scroll work ran up her bare arms, disappearing under the dress she wore, and returning up the skin of her neck. They stopped just below her chin and then ran up to frame her face, leaving her features unmarred… they only made her more beautiful, difficult since most Sith tattooing was designed to disfigure and make horrible… Bicara was a different breed of Sith entirely; but, then again, she'd had Virtra as a master.

As An'ya eyed the Sith with caution, Bicara stood up from her seated position. The Sith had been sitting here, alone in the dark, with a cup of tea... just… waiting? As she stood, the shimmering blue and black fabric of her dress fell into place, revealing her lithe and cat-like figure… and much more of her legs than An'ya had wanted to see… especially since the scrolling tattoos worked their way down to her ankles. The Jedi master felt that she understood, all too well, just what Bicara was thinking when she remembered the tattooing process as painful.

"You know that I'm not letting you walk out of this place, Sith; you won't run to another planet this time," An'ya strode around Bicara, keeping a good measured distance between the two of them.

Bicara chuckled, "You know… I was thinking something quite similar." The Sith didn't even hint with her body at the motion following her words. One minute she was standing there with a condescending smirk curling up her lips, and the next her hand shot up, blasting An'ya backwards with Force lightning.

Blue bolts of electricity slammed the Jedi full force in the chest, knocking her flying. An'ya met a small amount of resistance before the wall gave way and she continued flying through the air, pain arching through her nerves and blunt force crushing against her back. The velocity of her fall was broken by water, the stunning realization that she had flown to the beach subdued as she struggled not only to keep her head above water, but to hold her lightsaber above the surface. It was a failing struggle and An'ya sacrificed her weapon to gain footing. She planted her feet in the soft sand and she pulled herself up, water making her clothes heavier, just as Bicara came leaping through the hole in the vista wall.

The Sith's crimson lightsaber came slashing down and An'ya thanked the Force for its aid as she ducked, her hand coming up to grab the Sith Lord's wrist, stopping the blade from cleaving her in two. "The way I see it…" Bicara whispered through gritted teeth, the two of them using pure strength in the struggle at the moment, "…if you're dead--I don't have to run any longer!"

The Jedi master let out a snarl, throwing her free hand into a fist and slamming Bicara in the stomach. The force of the punch was aided by the Force, and the Sith went flailing through the air to land sprawling in the sand of the beach. An'ya sprinted through the crashing wake to gain ground on the beach while Bicara had to recover. She'd just made it out of the water as the Sith gained her feet again and the Jedi master put her years of combat experience to use over the more powerful Sith.

With a flick of the hand, An'ya summoned the Force and pulled Bicara's lightsaber out of her hand, tossing it into the sand several yards from its master. The Sith had been more concerned with returning air to her lungs, and hadn't been concentrating enough. The momentary lapse in concentration had been substantial enough to give An'ya the upper hand. Bicara's eyes widened as her weapon flew away only to start seeing bright points of light as An'ya fist connected with her head.

Bicara fell to one knee, pain radiating through her skull from this unorthodox approach to the battle, and summoned the Force around her in a sphere. The Jedi master retaliated with another Force enhanced punch, the two powers colliding into an explosion of invisible energy. The blast escalated out in shockwaves, throwing both combatants into the air. An'ya hit the ground and rolled, coming up to her feet and Bicara summoned her lightsaber back to her hand… distance giving the Sith Lord time to recover both weapon and breath.

The light of the crimson blade spat back to life, washing Bicara in the blood red glow. An'ya took a deep calm breath, thumbing the activator of her own weapon. She was relieved as the soft purple light hissed into existence, locking gaze with the Sith Lord as she smiled triumphantly. "Are you ready to end this?"

"You honestly haven't seen it?" Bicara laughed incredulously, "And I thought the Force tied us together more tightly than that…"

An'ya was thrown off guard by the comment, but she didn't get the chance to ask questions. Bicara launched herself across the beach, speed increased by the dark side. She held her lightsaber loosely at her sight, the red blade burning a trail of glass across the sand. An'ya lunged forward, locking blades viciously with the Sith Lord. When it came to fighting, the Jedi master knew that her skill with the blade was greater… but that wasn't what made fighting Bicara dangerous. The Sith Lord carried the blade out of necessity rather than desire… because her true strength lay in fighting with the Force.

The purple and red blades arced and flared as the combatants twirled and danced through the sand. An'ya pressed the attack, hoping to keep Bicara occupied with defense until she slipped up. The Jedi master's blade blurred and zipped through the air, strings of slashes and lunges constant hounding the Sith. Bicara snarled as one particular strike buzzed past her ear, almost taking her head off. The Sith Lord dropped to one knee, bringing the saber up to block the downward stroke that An'ya followed with. Bicara threw up a barricade of Force lightning, the blue tendrils leaping up from the ground and snaking towards the Jedi.

The assault pushed An'ya back, so she nimbly danced away, batting the lightning aside with delicate strokes from her saber. Bicara leapt as the Jedi was preoccupied, but her slash was parried by the Jedi's master's skill. The parry threw the Sith off balance, and An'ya took further advantage by throwing a concentrated blast of Force energy at her stumbling opponent. The attack knocked Bicara for a loop, launching her into the air and sent her lightsaber flying from her hands for a second time.

An'ya was smiling cockily, watching as the Sith lightsaber bounce over the sand… and not watching as a large object came hurtling through the air behind her. The large tree had been ripped up by the roots and the Force only alerted An'ya with moments to spare. The Jedi master threw up both hands, only able to throw a buffer up as the trunk of the tree smashed her to the ground. She was luck to be alive, though she could feel one of her ribs was cracked: it was like a sharp knife in her chest every time she drew a breath. Bicara was already on her feet and An'ya struggled under the weight of the uprooted flora. With a shout of frustration, the Jedi master sent the tree flying off of her, happy to be able to breathe unrestricted once again… but that joy was quickly quelled as a blast of Force lightning sent her tumbling sideways. Sand caught in the folds of cloth from her top, flying into the Jedi's face and she closed her eyes to shield them… feeling the granules sticking to her hand and being held under her hair.

The violet blade of her lightsaber was becoming just as deadly to the Jedi master as it could potentially be for Bicara, scorching lines of molten glass across the sand as she rolled… and it almost took An'ya's leg off completely, she only escaped with a burn because of a quick jerk of her wrist. She could feel Bicara storming towards her, the dark side whirling around her like an arctic wind. An'ya struggled to her feet when suddenly a wave of sand came spilling over her, knocking her flat. The Jedi master rolled to escape when the sand came at her from the other side. For a moment she flailed, the sand trying to fill her mouth and other places it could get into… then realization hit: Bicara was going to bury her alive.

The lightsaber wasn't helping either, turning sand that touched it into hot orange glass that either tried to burn her or solidified around her; An'ya thumbed it off and cupped her hands over her head to keep the sand from closing completely around her… then she summoned the Force with all her might and repulsed it outwards. She blew free of her prison, leaping high into the air and coming down behind Bicara. An'ya snapped her lightsaber back to life and swung for a killing stroke, aiming for Bicara's heart… but it was parried by a red blade.

The blade pushed and parried, shoving An'ya backwards and she marveled as she saw that the saber was not even wielded by Bicara. The red lightsaber was only a third of the size of the one knocked away, much shorter than the Jedi master's own, but controlled by the Force it was more maneuverable… and it was soon joined by three other short sabers that leapt from within the folds of Bicara's dress and snapped to life.

"New trick…" An'ya muttered, knocking the saber closest to her through the air. It spun for a few feet before righting itself and falling into formation around the Sith Lord.

"No… I just never bothered with you before," Bicara spat. She held both hands open by her sides, arms relaxed as lightning danced precariously across her skin. This kind of set up was exactly what An'ya had hoped to avoid… Bicara had managed to ground herself into her element of fighting, and the longer this went on… the less chance the Jedi master would have of victory. The outcome, though up in the air, didn't matter. Both combatants locked their gazes together, Bicara's ice blue eyes reflecting off of An'ya's silver resolve, and both knew that this battle was far from over.

An'ya leapt, spinning through the air as her violet saber blade parried two of the floating weapons that came her way. Bicara's fighting style was close knit, protecting itself, and the Jedi master had to back flip from the next two short sabers that covered up for their brethren. Her flip soared a breath's distance over the two recovering sabers An'ya had passed, missing bisection by a heart beat. She landed on planted feet, spinning around to launch a different assault when Force lightning blasted her through the air. The blue energy stung her skin and electrified every nerve in her body as An'ya landed on her back.

Years of fighting experience helped An'ya recover, rolling backwards with her fall and coming up to her feet. Her head snapped up to see a crimson blade streaking for her head; Bicara stalking slowly forward like a wild cat cornering its prey. With a wide defensive swing, An'ya sent the attacking lightsaber careening into the air, dropping her shoulder to evade a second strike. With a twist of her hips she continued the strike, bringing it up to slice through the handle of the third lightsaber. The red light sputtered and vanished as the two metal halves of the hilt landed in the sand at the Jedi master's feet.

Building the Force behind her, An'ya lunged for the Sith lord. Her violet blade sparked against the short saber that had remained by its master, and white haired Jedi bounded back as Bicara retaliated. A swath of lightning poured from Bicara's hands, lighting the land with a deathly glow; An'ya's only defense was to bring her lightsaber up as a conduit, drawing forth the electricity in to the dazzling purple energy. The Jedi master know that it wouldn't be a defense for long; with her blade detained by the Force lightning, she only had moments before the three short sabers impaled her as if she were a seamstress's pin cushion. Thinking rapidly, An'ya dropped her saber with the energy beam still thumbed on and leapt over the attacking sabers.

An'ya landed behind Bicara, noticing as the Sith whirled around with wide eyes, and sent a fist headed for the raven haired woman's stomach. The fist landed in the Sith lord's gut and exploded with the strength of a force push, launching Bicara into the air where she skidded into the wet and mucky sand of where the waves met the shore. The Jedi master had turned Force grappling into an art form, and An'ya had taught it to many students since she returned to the Jedi after Order 66. Using the Force to enhance her fighting abilities, increasing speed, strength and balance… An'ya had expounded upon it until the Force became as much of a weapon as the lightsaber. With Force grappling, a combatant could turn normal hand-to-hand fighting into an awe inspiring assault.

The elevated blades faltered and drooped in the air as the Sith's concentration stumbled, and An'ya watched the dark lord careen head over heels in the mess. With an outstretched hand the Jedi master summoned her weapon back to her grasp, the blade snap-hissing to life. Bicara recovered in the brine, the water making her deep blue robes heavy, but An'ya to admire the speed at which the dark lord gained her footing--that admiration turned to an impression as a wide, snaking tendril of salt water slapped her across the face.

Bicara stood there with her feet in the wet and wild wave, her hand flung out as she wrestled control of the water from the sea. The Sith knew her strength lay in fighting with the Force, not with the blade… and the entire universe was her plaything. Nothing on this beach was safe from being used by her as a weapon, and Bicara knew it. A vicious sneer appeared on the Sith's face as the attack knocked the smug Jedi upon her rear, and Bicara marched forward with victorious glee etched upon her features. Once more her three remaining short blades snapped to attention in the air around her, but when she looked to the sand where her prey had fallen… An'ya wasn't there.

Arrogance had caused Bicara to falter, and at the last minute the dark side warned her to look up… and she saw the magnificent image of An'ya soaring down like a bird of prey. The Sith hastened to react, but she could only step back--barely getting out of the way as the Jedi master's skillful blade sliced through the air, missing the Sith by inches. "You're getting slow Jedi…" Bicara sneered, taunting the elderly opponent with glee.

"I wasn't aiming for you." An'ya's reply brought cold fear through Bicara. The Sith's eyes darted side-to-side until she noticed two sparking handles lying in the sand… the Jedi had destroyed two more of her weapons. Bicara's eyes narrowed, and in a split second she made a decision. Turning with the aid of the Force, Bicara fled for the cliff.

It took An'ya a moment to realize that the Sith was not going to stand an fight her any longer. Cursing to herself, An'ya sped forward after her quarry. A blast of lightning was fired off blindly by Bicara, but with the Force the Sith didn't need eyes. Forced to dodge, An'ya rolled to the side as sand exploded where she had stood a moment before, leaving a molten glass statuette standing there to cool… the glistening, murky glass would almost be art if its creator hadn't had murder in her heart. Scrambling back to her feet, An'ya ran forward again as she noticed that Bicara was heading for the path that led up the cliff. The Sith retained quite a lead by the time An'ya reached the cliff base. She looked up the path to see Bicara's retreating form and swore aloud. Summoning the Force, the she leapt high, landing several meters up the path before taking to foot and running after the Sith.

Bicara was safely out of sight, but An'ya knew that the cliff was a dead end… why would the intelligent being back herself into a corner? The Force screamed a warning just in time, and An'ya pitched forward as a flying lightsaber burned a heated whelp across her back before embedding itself in the wall. Her mouth opened in a mangled cry of pain, back arching as she screamed from the saber burn… deep ragged breaths answered as she pulled herself to her feet, rage and pain filled tears building up in the corner of her eyes. An'ya kicked a foot out, driving the hilt of the crimson lightsaber into the cliff side. It shorted out with a satisfying "pop-fizz" of overloaded circuitry. An'ya hunched forward, the pain across her back excruciating, and she called upon the Force for strength… she could rest for eons once this battle was over… thousands could. With renewed resolve the aging Jedi master pushed herself onward, her white hair blowing wildly in the sea winds.

It was a cautious rise as An'ya reached the end to the cliff's path. After the hidden lightsaber event the Jedi had opted for a more careful ascension. Coming out on the top of the cliff rise and overlooking the countryside of Zeltros, An'ya found Bicara waiting for her. The Sith looked confident, even with her back to the open air and the deathly fall from the side; she had something planned. With her lightsaber at the ready An'ya approached, much to her surprise—nothing happened.

"So this is the end?" Bicara asked quietly, but even over the howl of the hungry ocean… An'ya heard.

"You knew one of us wasn't leaving."

Bicara nodded solemnly, "You really haven't seen then?"

"Again with the perplexing question?" The Jedi master thought. It was enough of a thought to cause hesitation, but after a second An'ya shrugged it off. The Sith was trying to scare her, to make her falter… it would not happen. "Then again…" An'ya told herself, "Bicara is a seer as much as a maelstrom of Force power. Did she see something?"

"You aren't certain anymore are you?" Bicara smiled coldly, "Neither am I… however I promise you this: both of us will be leaving this place—one way or another."

"I don't mind if my death will take you from this world," An'ya said with finality.

"Then come and meet your fate, Jedi," Bicara snapped with venomous acidity, "Whatever that may be!"

The Jedi obliged. The Force exploding leap covered the distance between the two monumental figures of light and dark in less than a second. An'ya's blade rose the violet blade held out straight before her as it went spearing for Bicara's heart, and the Sith's hand was held outward, glowing with a strange blue light. There was a slight resistance as An'ya's momentum halted, her blade held frozen and both combatants were lost in each other's eyes for eternity. Time stretched and neither moved…

An'ya was the first to break the contact, looking down to see that her blade had entered the Sith's chest with accurate and deadly precision. She heard a strange sound, her eyes looking up to see Bicara grimacing.

"Hckgh…" the Sith coughed a haggard chuckle. Blood trickled from the right corner of her mouth and she reached up a hand, that blue glowing hand to touch An'ya. The Jedi felt the danger in the Force; she heard the warning as she pulled her lightsaber out and summoned the Force to throw the evil being off the cliff side. Bicara's fingers connected with An'ya's face for the briefest and smallest fraction of a second… but it was apparently enough. As the Sith was launched into the air by the Jedi Master's Force push… there was a thunder clap of deafening noise and An'ya was hurled backwards by the force of a speeder impact. The Jedi crashed into a large, jutting outcrop of rock on the top of the cliff. She slid down as if gravity had begun to weaken, and as her vision dimmed… An'ya saw as the body of Bicara, the still smoking hole in her chest, fell below the lip of the cliff and into the gaping maw of the ravenous ocean below.

"It was a fitting end…" the Jedi master told herself, "We both leave this place… one way or another." An'ya felt the ground finally support her weight and she gave into it's embrace, collapsing. The world around her turned dark and she muttered one last thing before consciousness faded, "Sylir… carry on."

-- -- -- -- -- --

"We've managed to contain all the damage and the only thing left to do is dispose of the body," Rhiar spit out rapidly to Allara. The Twi'lek female motioned behind her to the dead Zabrak Jedi; when she was alive... the girl had looked much older, but now that she was dead...well she looked very much like a child. Rhiar was fuming at herself for needing to be saved.

"You did well," Allara said, off the topic of what had been asked. Through the helmet of her Mandalorian armor, the leader of the Toran'ak was a frightfully emotionless being. "You were rash today, and that will not serve well against an opponent more skilled. Do not let it happen again."

"Of course," Rhiar bowed. So there it was: the reprimand. It could have been worse… much worse. The red skinned alien had personally seen worse happen to other members; thus she thanked her deities for allowing this one to have a mixture of praise. "About the body, ma'am?"

"Burn it… we want to leave no traces."

Rhiar hesitate, "But won't that alert the authorities?"

Allara's metallic hand shot up, clenching in a fist as a jet of molten flame poured from her wrist gauntlet. The flame throwing weapon ignited the Jedi corpse as if it were a flimsy sheet. The cold T-visored gaze turned upon Rhiar, the flames reflecting off of the helmet's polished surface. The sight paralyzed the Twi'lek hunter and she feared that her life might actually be in danger.

"The Jedi bodies are burned…" the cold voice lashed out, "Don't question an order again."

Rhiar watched as Allara walked away without another word, and once against the alien thanked her gods that she hadn't been given harsher treatment. Working for Allara Denali was a gift; the job tested her reflexes and honed her hunter's skills to a level surpassing many in the field. Once she left the Toran'ak, if there was ever a need, Rhiar would be at the top of her field… but there was no denying the madness or the anger that surrounded their leader. Allara was a genius—but she was also a demon.


	4. Of Memorials and Memories

**Greetings to my readers!! **

Welcome to chapter four, and I'm afraid that I have to start off with an apology: this chapter does not have the patented action that my previous three have had. I have been told that my fight scenes are enjoyable to read, and I realize this--but I also realize that I cannot continue to have an engaging story if I don't build the plot: therefore you get this chapter. It was fun, and I enjoyed painting these word pictures. We have the memorial service that was talked about in chapter two... and I think that I captured the imagery of the memorial nicely. (I would like to hear your thoughts about this) We also get to see the more cunning side of Allara Denali, head of the Toran'ak--and perhaps she has more planned for this little exercise on Abregado-rae that we first believed. I also introduce our Jedi at this time... you make notice some names and faces, others will be new to you--but I hope you come to love my Jedi as much as you love those that exist now.

I also wanted to take this time to address an issue with my writing. I received a message the other day from someone who started reading my story. It was full of praise and also the stuff that will keep one's head on the grindstone as well; but the reader said that they loved my OC's and hoped I wouldn't kill all of them off. That's a tricky situation. I will assure you that I will not needlessly kill off ANY character in my story. It's not my style; but I also will not keep a character alive because of a fanbase. I'm glad that you love a character (this is all completely aside here, I'm speaking to no one in particular... let me pretend I have a large audience!)... I hope that you come to love all my characters, the good and the bad... but I will not keep one living because you love me. I'm not that kind of writer. I place a death in my stories because it has an impact--it serves a purpose. If a character has to die, it is for the good of the story and I cannot sacrifice my writing because the character is loved... in fact that only serves to make the character's death more meaningful. So I apologize to anyone who was growing attached to L'loria... and I apologize to anyone who comes to like my other characters. This is not a happy story, and people will die. While there will be moments of bliss, their will be moments of grief as well. With heroic moments come times of tragedy... it is the way of my universe.

On that delightful note... please enjoy!  
**_~Sarai~_**

* * *

"This is a time to rebuild…"

Grand Master Dain Cross stood at a crystalline podium, overlooking the masses of Coruscanti denizens who had gathered for the memorial service. Representatives of species from every corner of the galaxy were crowded around Central Quarter for the revealing of what was now being called _The Monument of Sacrifice_. As he gave his speech, Dain stood in the center of what had once been Imperial Plaza: former home to the looming statue of the tyrannical Emperor Palpatine. The Jedi master relaxed in the knowledge that this taint was about to be replaced by something pure--a symbol that would kick start the galaxy on its road to recovery.

"We stand here today: members of all races and worlds, to honor those who have helped pave the way for democracy," Dain smiled, feeling the excitement ripple in the strings of the force. Along with the citizens of Coruscant, nearly every Jedi had returned to witness an auspicious moment; this was also their chance to grieve silently for comrades lost. Like Dain, every Jedi had exchanged their normal robes, of brown and natural colors, for formal ones. The Grand Master now wore robes of brightest white with an under tunic of pearl colored shimmer silk. The feeling of the smooth cloth was very foreign to him—as he had grown comfortable in the simple robes of the order. But as many other Jedi had brought to his attention: the people in the galaxy place much importance on appearance. If the Jedi were to show up for the event in a manner that honored the dead… it would show that they were more open to how the rest of the galaxy was feeling.

Dain did not completely agree with this stance, but he had to admit that of the citizens he encountered today—they had been more open to speaking with him, and he could tell that the public were warming up to the Jedi once more. Perhaps today would heal more than just the wounds of war; there was always the possibility of repairing damages that were done by the hands of evil in generations past. "Today I am proud to stand before you and say that we, together as a united people, have taken back our homes and our freedom.

"There will always be the threat of darkness, and the dark silhouette of the Empire's Remnant still looms in the shadows of our newly formed government; but we stand here on this monument to say that we will no longer cower in silence. We will not forget the darkness and we will not forget those who brought us light once more! This…" Dain raised his hands to much applause, "is our remembrance! Today honors the sacrifices that we, and the ones we love, have made!"

As the speech completed the head architect, who was responsible for organizing the collaboration of artists that created the monument, threw the switch that gave life to a masterpiece. All around Central Quarter light sculptures sprang to life, the frozen images of the dead coming into existence in an intricate tiered patter. The sculptures, inspired by the work of the late artist Ves Volette, used technology similar to lightsaber emitters. The end result was a radiant collage of colors: reds, blues, greens and yellows… thousands of colors intricately woven into such vibrant shades as gold, emerald, cerulean, crimson—as the eye shifted so did the perspective of color and each individual sculpture had a different scheme based upon the life of its model.

Dain remembered hearing that there were nearly two thousand sculptures in the monument, all leveled sporadically along the three tiers of Central Quarter—sixteen of the statues were Jedi. The thousands of crowded beings began to mill about; some were silently in awe while other gaped and shouted with glee at the magnificence of the likenesses before them. Families shed tears of joy; others finally let go of their grief in a wash of emotion; the Jedi themselves began to flock to several well known images.

The tiniest sculpture present at the monument was of the greatest being Dain Cross had ever known: Master Yoda's image stood serene with his gimer stick, a fusion of verdigris and emerald colors, covered in robes flowing with deep, placid earthen tones… it looked as if the Jedi Master were alive with color from the living force—such was the magnitude of the artistry. Looking at the wizened and gentle face of the now departed Jedi tugged on Dain's heartstrings; it was difficult for the Grand Master not to feel a deep sorrow as he looked upon Yoda. There were nights were he would dream, and the dreams would be so vivid that when he awoke… Dain would swear that Yoda was still living.

Other masters had been given recognition as well: Obi-Wan Kenobi stood dashing and wise with his colors of Cerulean and purest white, standing fast and courageous the way Dain remembered him. Obi-wan had been cut down before his time, lost from the galaxy because of a fluke. The greatest hero to survive the Clone Wars had been killed by a stray blaster bolt, on an escape from Togoria when they were still running under the Empire's radar. Obi-Wan and Depa Bilaba had been on a routine mission to pick up a force sensitive, when suddenly everything had gone wrong. Master Depa and Master Kenobi were covering the escape when a squad of stormtroopers had rushed onto the scene. They split the numbers between themselves, Depa dispatched her half… at least she thought she had. A wounded trooper pulled of a shot at Master Kenobi's back… and it was over before anyone could blink.

As Dain passed the monument of Obi-Wan Kenobi, he saw the silent frame of Master Bilaba standing before the smiling man. The blind Jedi Master, her eyes covered with a silver scarf, did not speak… but the quiet tears that stained the elegant fabric over her eyes spoke enough. Depa Bilaba had not stopped blaming herself for the death of a friend… many wondered if she ever would. Dain wished he had the words to comfort her, but words were not able to fix the void that hung in the air. Every Jedi could feel the loss of Master Kenobi's wisdom, but there was nothing that could be done. The Jedi Order had to move forward, and Dain knew that Depa would not allow her guilt to affect her judgment—Master Bilaba kept her grief private and she handled it well… most of the time. It was one of her many scars, and Dain knew that she carried a great many.

On the second tier among the sculptures of a dozen fallen soldiers from the battle at Corellia, Master Shaak Ti stood, gazing ponderously up at the night sky—a spectrum of teal, crimson and opalescent lights that swirled into each other and making one of the most complex sculptures present in the monument. The Togruta Jedi Master, serene with grace, was poised upon the tips of her feet. Shaak Ti looked if she wanted nothing more than to take wing into the force and fly off for vast unknown reaches—perhaps that is where she wandered even now.

Shaak Ti and three other padawans had been murdered on Ambria. They had fled to the darkside seeped planet with a hope of escaping Vader's pursuing forces. The Empire, upon learning of the reemerging Jedi, had started a campaign anew to insure the Jedi Order's extinction. With the threat of Virtra casting a dark shadow over his Empire, Palpatine could ill-afford to allow a second faction to oppose him. Vader was reassigned to his task of eliminating Jedi, a feat the Sith lord was more than happy to perform, and it had almost spelled doom for Master Yoda's dream.

Thankfully the old master had foreseen such a possibility as being discovered, and Yoda had prepared a contingency plan. In the event of attack the Jedi would scatter and head for one of two safe havens: Anoat or Ambria, both planets were obscured and would be able to mask the presence of several Jedi from the scouring eye of the Emperor. Of the seventeen Jedi that managed to escape Vader's attack on Degobah, only four headed for the Anoat enclave. Shaak Ti and her party looked to be safe. They had contacted Anoat via the secure com-channel, but no one had prepared for Virtra.

The Ancient Sith had gone to Ambria hunting the fleeing Jedi, seeing this as a perfect opportunity to rid the galaxy of another faction opposed to her rule. It wasn't even a battle; Dain could remember hearing about the vision. Master Yoda and several others had seen the slaughter of their comrades—how brutally Virtra had murdered them. The Sith hadn't even asked for assistance. Master Ti and the other Jedi had the advantage of numbers, but they were dealt with as simplistically as younglings in a training exercise. Darth Virtra had cemented herself as a powerful entity that day, even though her actions had never been made public.

"_So many dark memories haunted the sculptures of this memorial_," Dain thought as he turned from Shaak Ti's statuesque figure to see Zallar standing before the thin and slender sculpture of a young woman cast in rustic autumn colored luminosity. The sculpture looked like a captured sunrise, glistening and brilliant as it heralded the new day, and the woman's smiling face pulled sadness from deep within Dain's heart.

"It is not a thing to be sad for," Zallar's voice was calm, and the silver Wookiee turned a collected face towards his human friend, giving Dain a genuine smile, "Seeing Dania like this… it reminds me of happier times. The artist did a good job, did he not?"

Nodding in agreement, the Grand Master of the Jedi was about to reply when this sudden feeling struck him. It was, at first, a small feeling of dread, but the force suddenly riled. Tossing like a great storm of Kamino, waves and tumults of darkness and dread, mixed with resignation and victory poured through Dain's entire body. He could feel his nerves alight with sensations, feelings both grand and disturbing, and as quickly as it had come, though the strength of the disturbance was great—it vanished.

Dain Cross locked eyes with the Zallar; the Wookiee's amber orbs confirmed a similar occurrence. Quickly and efficiently Dain scanned the crowd, picking out the other Jedi amongst the throngs of citizens. Many of the older Jedi, who had been a part of the Anoat events and before, had equal looks of discomfort and apprehension while the younger Jedi who had been enjoying the holiday were now scared and frightened. Many of the new generations had not experienced any of the dark tidings that came with shifts of power in the force, the time of peace had been welcomed by all… but the young were not prepared for when things were to change—if they were to change.

The masters had not expected anything this sudden. "Do you think?" Zallar asked him.

"Death…" Dain agreed, "There has been a tragic death."

-- -- -- -- -- --

"_**Grrah**_**!!"** The corridor shaking roar announced Sylir's return to consciousness. The Cathar Jedi was awoken by a resonating sense of loss, and, as he shot up from the cot where he laid—pain ran throughout his body and shot directly to his skull. A furred hand came up to steady his spinning head, and the Jedi Master had no idea why he felt as if the world had fallen out from under him. The Force was mournful. All around him he could feel the touch of death; it seeped into the pit of his stomach and rose through his chest until it clenched his heart… and suddenly he had clarity.

He was alone.

The large quaking sense of loss that had jarred him from unconsciousness had been that of his master… something had happened to An'ya. Sylir didn't know what, and he could not tell if she as still alive or dead. The force was dark and trembling all around where his master had been. There had been death… a major death in the force, and the Cathar found his face streamed with unbidden tears, the liquid matting his facial fur.

Sylir had felt personally betrayed when An'ya Kuro had abandoned the Jedi in her pursuit of Darth Bicara… not because of what she was doing, but because he had been left behind—An'ya hadn't even thought to ask for his help. Now, wherever his master was, her hunt for the Sith had led her to create this ambiguous and echoing disturbance in the force; however, that was not the feeling that continued to hang in the air around him. Sylir had not seen An'ya in years… that feeling would have been felt by all the other Jedi. No, the feeling that hung around him was the one that created this sense of loss—something personal.

When it hit him, the realization of what this feeling meant, a choke cry ripped itself from his lungs.

"_L'loria…" _

It was like a whisper. Her death was so monumental to him, but he could feel it in the force—minuscule and frail… so minute compared to other events, but to him it was like the foundations of his world had been shaken. Sylir didn't know how it had happened; he shook his head with disgust. No, he knew how it had happened. He was her master, and he had left her alone. L'loria had been alone to run from those monsters, and now she was dead… and he was…

Sylir finally took in his surroundings. He was in a run down room, lying on a worn cot that couldn't pass for a bed in its best days—which were long gone. The Jedi master ran a hand over his bare torso, which had been expertly bandaged, and the Cathar only felt mild pain when he moved his right arm. Someone had moved him here because it was a far cry better than the alley he remembered diving into.

He was still trying to remember what happened when the door to his room opened with a strained hiss of hydraulics. Instinctively, Sylir reached for his lightsaber… which to his dismay was no longer at his side. The Jedi made to reach for the nearest object that could be used for a weapon.

"Aw, nuts…" a feminine voice exclaimed. "I told them that moving you would only serve to wake you up, and it's not like this is the most comfortable of places to recover."

Cathar eyes locked upon the figure, scrutinizing the being with a predatory glint. The being was a fair, blue skinned Nautolan, and something jolted Sylir's memory back to the present where it belonged. "Mistress Cai?" The Jedi's confusion was apparent.

"You collapsed on me outside," she said with annoyance, "You've been out for several hours. I had a medical droid watching you, but once that bucket of rust was certain you would live—well, it didn't want you in there any longer."

"Allow me…" Sylir cleared his throat, which was extremely dry now that he was aware of his body once again, "...to make the question a little more clear. What are you doing here?"

The Nautolan didn't find that very amusing, giving the Jedi a look that could melt steel, "Did you get a look at yourself before you collapsed on me? It looked as though a Mustafar lava slug had swallowed you whole, then spat you out, and that's not counting the lovely hunting barb that was embedded in your shoulder." Cai closed the door behind her and walked in carrying all of the Jedi's belongings. "I wasn't about to just leave you there, seeing as how it would take something fairly nasty to do that to a Jedi…"

"You decided to stay as close as you could to the Jedi so that they could do it to you?" Sylir asked derisively.

With a sneer as her retort, Cai dropped the Jedi's things at his feet and then dropped herself into a chair across the room. "Look Jedi, normally I don't stick my neck out for people," she raised a scrutinizing eyebrow, "but you looked like you could use all the help you could get."

Sylir was quiet as he pulled on the top shirt of his tunic and replaced his lightsaber on his belt. He was still reeling from everything that had come to him upon waking up, and whether he wanted to admit it or not—Cai had saved his life. The Cathar may feel angry towards her; however, that was nothing but his anger at himself and his pride trying to get back at someone else. "I'm… sorry," Sylir said finally, "I owe you a debt and I will do my best to repay you."

"Yeah, well…" Cai muttered getting to her feet again, "You're going to start paying it by telling me what's going on."

-- -- -- -- -- --

"I'm telling you that something is coming!" Maris Brood shouted across the Jedi Council Chambers at another member, "We all felt it! I don't see how you can just pass it off so easily?"

"The answer is very simple," Kyle Cross deftly stared down the impetuous Zabrak, "We all know that the disturbance was centered on Master Kuro. Wherever her quest has taken her… it resulted in her death, the death of Darth Bicara, or the both of them managed to kill each other. It was clear by her actions that Master Kuro did not seek sanction by this council… therefore it is not our concern."

"And if Darth Bicara still lives?" Maris shot back. Her black eyes blazed with controlled ferocity. They all knew that for several years, before Master Yoda had found them, Shaak Ti and Maris had spent their time on Felucia. The darkside planet had been difficult to live on, but it had prepared Master Ti and Maris for the life they had to live in order to survive the Empire—it also made living on Degobah a walk in the park. Maris had survived all of these ordeals to become a knight; now she was training a second padawan… and every day she strove to stop the threat brought into the galaxy by Virtra. The council knew that Maris had supported An'ya Kuro in her quest, even if the Zabrak Jedi had not followed.

Maris held a grudge against Virtra for the death of Shaak Ti—it pulsed in her eyes every time the Zabrak spoke the name of Virtra or one of her subordinates. Many had expected Maris to flee on the heels of The Dark Woman, but Maris Brood had proven herself a capable Jedi by staying, fulfilling her duties as a knight and now a master; nevertheless, the bitterness against Virtra still remained to this day.

Dain sighed, "Arguing amongst ourselves won't solve anything. I think it is safe to say that Darth Bicara is dead from what we have all felt. We will wait and give Master Kuro forty-eight standard hours. If she doesn't contact us or return in that time, I suggest we send a Jedi team to investigate."

"We still have not heard from Master Sylir's mission," Kyle muttered, running a hand through his shoulder length white hair, "I find that to be a much more pressing concern. He was scheduled to return at the same time as Master Brood, yet he missed the memorial and—he has not reported in." The younger of the Cross brothers was a good six inches taller than the Grand Master, and Kyle didn't care much for respect either.

Dain sighed inwardly. It was a strange order they had given birth to… as Master Yoda would have said: _"Strength we gain from our differences, but strange to me those differences are." _His brother was a good example of that. Kyle was a great Jedi; a bit reckless at times, but when it came to getting the job of a Jedi done… Kyle was a great Jedi. Still, he was on the council—they would have to work on his level of respect for the others that also held that position.

It was times like these when Dain wished that some of the older masters were still around. When Shaak Ti, Obi-wan and Yoda had sat on the council, the other Jedi had someone to look up to—someone who could take charge and offer advice. Now Dain and his friends were those Jedi. More often than not, Dain wondered if their training had been completed enough to actually run the order. He found himself wishing that Master Kuro were here, which was absurd.

An'ya and Dain had never gotten along. An'ya had been a strict traditionalist when it came to training the new Jedi; she didn't understand how change was better, and she had taught the way she always taught: unconventionally and bizarrely while still creating remarkable Jedi by the old Republic standards. It would have been great, except that the students were older—the fight was more difficult—the padawans did not need to think that their master was uncaring. Dain fully supported the idea that Jedi could still care for one another, they could still care for those they protected—love could be strength. The elder Cross believed such a change would make the Jedi stronger, and thus Dain and An'ya had consistently argued—much to Yoda's dismay; however, Dain had to admit—if An'ya were present now… it would help to establish some level of order to this Council meeting.

"I agree with Kyle on this," Jeta Brier remarked. She was a tiny, pixie like woman with golden, wheat colored hair and a tan complexion. Jeta was one of the original padawans on Degobah, along with Dain and Kyle. The three of them had arrived within days of one another. Jeta had come from Corellia, an Imperial world, where being a force sensitive could either have meant your death or a lifetime of service to Palpatine—neither was a healthy option. Jeta's parents had known Bail Organa, and the senator of Alderaan had been able to contact Yoda. "Sylir has never failed to contact us before," she continued, "his silence worries me, and I fear that part of the disturbance I felt was connected to him."

Jeta and Sylir were like siblings, even though they were from different species. Having come to Degobah at the same time as Dain—Jeta had been An'ya Kuro's first padawan, training with The Dark Woman for several months before Sylir had joined the Jedi. And where Sylir had been a warrior and a negotiator… Jeta had challenged An'ya more because she had what the old Jedi called _sight_.

As far a Dain knew, Yoda was the only Jedi who had visions, but Jeta's sight was much more frequent and far more vivid according to the Masters. Master Kuro had known how to train Sylir, and she had made him into a great Jedi, a Jedi Dain admired. Jeta was not a combatant; Jeta didn't like to fight—with her vivid force visions and her intricate connection to the force, any little thing could lead to her freezing in place—her mind far from where she stood. These occurrences made battle a danger for Jeta; thus An'ya was forced to change her training regimen for the Corellian girl. It had made life for both of them… interesting.

"I warned you before, when Mara Jade was in trouble, and you didn't listen to me," Jeta's blue eyes were sharp with caution, "We lost a good friend because you doubted my feelings. All of us here are to blame for that, but my fault was for not insisting that this Council act. No one else is going to die because we're afraid of making wrong moves that _might_ make the public not like us! I'm not going to make that same error, not with what's at stake!"

All of the Jedi Masters had taken time to change out of the formal robes worn at the memorial service. Jeta had switched to the standard form robes of the Jedi… only hers were made of a rough, lilac, colored fabric for the outer robes that sat over her white under tunic. As she drove her point home, Dain couldn't help but smile at the image an angry Jeta created: like a butterfly with its wings beating angrily.

"I haven't even said anything," Dain murmured to keep them all in their seats. Once all of his companions had calmed down, he looked to Zallar. "We have already discussed this, and we both agree that Sylir's lack of communication is cause for concern… but we cannot afford to go rushing in either."

"We are short on numbers as it is," Zallar spoke up in agreement with Dain. "The Jedi council is already missing two members, with Sylir and Master Kuro missing. To send in another council member, when we current have very few experienced knights, it wouldn't be prudent. We should contact the local authorities on Abregado-rae and see if they have heard anything. That is the proper path to take. If something is amiss… we can send a team to retrieve Sylir and his padawan immediately."

"If the threat is not great…" Kyle muttered to no one in particular, "It could be a great exercise for one of the newer Knight teams."

Jeta nodded, her short flaxen hair bouncing around her face as she got up from her seat, "I'll establish a connection immediately… we can all monitor the communication." Before any of the other council members could protest, the pixie-like Jedi had patched the coordinate-code into the holo-communicator and was hailing the Central Security office on Abregado-rae.

-- -- -- -- -- --

"We have a level three alert!!" Lovast yelled to the other people in the apartment. Several of the Toran'ak members had been preoccupied with a Holonet newscast that had detailed the different violent outbreaks on Abregado-rae, intent on seeing the fruits of their labors to this point. Lovast had refused to quit manning the net and had forced the others to take shifts—thanks to his persistence they were about to avoid a catastrophe.

Allara stormed out of the bedroom. What she had been doing in there, no one had any idea, and they were not allowed to go in and find out. She was still wearing the single piece black Sythiskin suit with a pair of polished, rough terrain boots—but that was all. The sight of their leader in such a state drew the eyes of all men from humanoid species.

"Pull yourselves together…" Allara spat with condescension, "What in Palpatine's ghost is going on?"

She never got excited about anything—which was both impressive and irritating to Lovast. The soldier spun around in his chair, locking his blue eyes on Allara, "We've intercepted a communication from the Jedi Council on Coruscant to the administrator from Central Security. Right now they believe they are on hold while the administrator is being pulled out of her meeting, but I don't believe I can stall them for much longer."

With a blurring move of her hand, the leader of the Toran'ak snatched the headset off Lovast's head, and adjusted it over her hair. Pulling the mouthpiece into place, Allara flicked the communication on, "This is Siliah Kahn; why am I being pulled out of a briefing?"

"Administrator Kahn," a deep male voice spoke over the communication channel, "This is Jedi Master Dain Cross of the Jedi council. I hope we are not inconveniencing you."

"Of course not, Master Jedi," Allara said with false admiration, "I'm just up to my ears with violent outbreaks across my city, and you called up to ask me how I'm doing? I'm quite busy… so do you mind getting to your point?"

There was a pause in which the Jedi thought of the most "_Jedi-like_" way of responding to her brusque manner. He finally spoke in a calm voice, "I'm calling to inquire about another Jedi who was supposed to have left your planet two days ago. He has not contacted us… and with these violent outbreaks that you mention—we admit that we have our concerns."

"I can understand that," Allara said politely, "We found your Jedi's ship destroyed along with several of my officers killed in the blast. From what I understand, your Jedi has been preoccupied with helping to maintain order among the citizens…"

"It's that serious?" the Jedi master asked.

"We definitely are not having an annual celebration, Master Jedi."

"Master Sylir is a dear friend of mine… if he needs assistance; I will be more than willing to offer it."

Allara scoffed, "So if our planet needs help… the Jedi will send aid if one of their exclusive club asks for it? I've got work to do master Jedi. If you can't keep up with your own kind, I'm afraid that's not my problem."

"That's not what I meant!" the Jedi hurriedly answered to keep Allara from terminating the communication.

"Pray tell, Master Jedi… what did you mean?"

There was a heavy sigh from the other end of the communication, and Allara wondered if the famous Jedi master was irritated or relieved. "I meant that if Sylir was trying to help you, and he wasn't enough; the Jedi would be more than willing to send another master-padawan team to assist you."

Allara smiled a triumphant grin that could only be seen by those in the room—an unnatural and cold smile that foretold nothing good for the Jedi. "That would be most appreciated," her voice was gracious, almost kind, "I'm sure that Master Sylir is dying for support."

-- -- -- -- -- --


	5. Of Approaching Shadows

_**Hello again to all my readers!**_

Welcome to what is possibly my favorite chapter thus far (and I've finished ten... so that should tell you something). I don't like this chapter because of it's action, or it's intrigue... I like it for the imagery. I think that I nailed the imagery perfectly. I read this chapter and it's like a painting, which is what makes the opening words for this part so wonderfully delicious.

**As you may notice:** this is the first chapter to involve a first person perspective. It's brief, but it's important. The only time you will witness first person perspective in my story... will be from the viewpoint of one character. That will be the only time the story is written from the POV of that character. You may have noticed that certain sections are oriented around the eyes of one person... well it threw this in to give you a better picture. This chatper introduces more of the history from my universe's past, it gives you a new character to be interested in... it's kinda short. It's the shortest one I have to offer you, but it still packs quite a punch.

I want to take this time to once again thank those readers who have stuck with me up to this point: Mirwen Sunrider, realfanficts, and Karol Wolfe--all who have given me great feedback and support. And to my new readers: PeechTao and Haninator! I hope you stick with me because there are much more exciting and shocking things to come. If you don't believe me after this chapter. Well... then I fail epically. However I am going to make an offer to people that they cannot refuse! I promise that if you give me a review on my story: I will give you an Author's reply with commentary on every point you bring up (whether from fashion sense or typo... to plot device... you name it I will honor it with some form of commentary. On my honor).

Ok... brief notes, check! thank you readers, check! bribery, check!  
That's all for this time! See you later!  
**_~Sarai~_**

_

* * *

_

I am a shadow… no. I am darkness. I look upon the faces of the many, the multitude and they are not like me. It is said that if one spends too much time away from humanity, then human kind—mortals—they begin to look like an entirely different species.

_It's true._

_The masses of the galaxy are like insects, scurrying about trying to gain as much for themselves or their kinds as possible. They do not see the bigger picture. That's okay… I'm an artist, and I'm about to paint the largest and most colorful picture that galaxy has ever seen…it's going to be grand._

-- -- -- -- -- --

A dark transport built of an unknown design, sleek and like a thorn, cut through the darkness of space. Its engines had long died, the fuel source long depleted as it carried on its death flight towards a planet of indiscriminate origins… a planet long rooted in darkness: Dathomir, planet of the witches.

Dathomir hung in the void of space like a rustic jewel, one that had been ravaged in the war… torn apart and placed into the collection of madness that had once belonged to Darth Virtra. Now, as the cold transport streaked through the planet's atmosphere, a small Dathmiri girl watched with awe as the dark comet tore through the winds howling out a silent and whispering shriek.

The small child, barely eight standard years old, began walking towards the place where the ship had been headed—childlike fascination urging her onward. The walk had been much longer than she had expected; the comet had looked much closer, but it had taken her an hour to get there… and she was farther from home than she ever had been. Suddenly she was afraid, but the glistening black object… larger than her home, beckoned her forward. Stepping carefully, the child inched her way into the impact crater that was created by the thing that fell from the sky. Oddly she could almost hear the dark star singing to her.

_Come… child._

For the briefest of moments the girl hesitated, but the soft voice called to her again, its siren's song telling her to reach out and touch the silver panel, the only thing that marred the perfect black surface of the ship… yes, it was a ship, like the ones that had come to bring supplies. There was a sharp hissing noise when the girl pressed her hand to the device, and she jumped back to the safety of the sunlight.

A door opened in the side of the ship, but no boarding ramp lowered. Now that the girl took a closer look at the ship, its gleaming exterior was scarred by long space travel and what looked to be cannon blasts from a large vessel—not that she could tell the difference between a meteor scoring and a laser cannon's impact.

From within the confines of the dark doorway, a figure stepped out. The being could have been an angel at first glance; the woman who emerged from the crashed spacecraft was far prettier than any witch the child had seen on the planet. Flowing tresses of black hair blew in the winds, surrounding the magnificent pale face with soft etched features. The woman was tall, perhaps two meters or slightly shorter, and she wore a dress made of shimmer silk. Clinging to the woman like wisps of moving shadow, the garment was form fitting to her torso but like liquid around her feet.

She took her first look around the planet, breathing in deeply of the fresh air—then she turned her eyes upon the child and all thoughts of angelic nature were gone. The deep crimson eyes of the stranger were dark, cold, and sent chills through the little girl… but the child could not move; she was riveted to the spot, locked in the dark entity's gaze.

With a cool smile that could have made even the strongest man shiver, the woman left the ship and walked towards the girl. On a belt at her waist, ornate and embossed with black symbols, hung twin stone cylinders that shone with the darkness of a black hole. It's not that the items themselves actually had a shine, but rather they stole all the light from the air around them… much like their owner who now cast her tall shadow over the child.

"Where are the Sith?" the woman's voice was soft, almost a whisper but there was no mistaking the words. It was a voice that would later be described by many as beautiful… but holding the veil of death behind it.

"Gone…" the little girl breathed, looking up into the crimson eyes of her new acquaintance.

The woman frowned, her hair falling around her face as she looked upon the girl. With the smallest gesture of her neck, the woman picked the child up with invisible hands… the Force lifting the child to eye level. "Gone?" she asked evenly, "Why whatever do you mean?"

"My mother told me that saviors came from the sky. Jedi came, with swords of light and powers from the sun; they came and liberated us from the Sith and killed them. Only one managed to escape, but she was never seen again. Since then, the Jedi have been helping to build us into a civilization of light," the girl smiled as she retold her favorite bedtime story.

"Oh…" the woman smiled at the little girl, bring a cool hand up to brush against her face, "What a lovely and enlightening story."

"My mama always tells it to me when I go to bed."

"Did she ever tell you about who created the Sith?" the dark being smiled. Her lips, painted with a red so deep it was almost black, curled up into a vicious smile.

"Nope." The girl stated simply. The being from the spacecraft was about to speak again, when suddenly a voice from the top of the crater shouted to both of them.

"Michaela!!" At the lip of the crater's mouth stood a frightened Dathmiri witch and two other female companions. The one who had spoken, the child's mother, had a look of utmost fear on her face.

The child turned her head and looked up, "Mama!!" She waggled her little legs happily, but held in the grip of the force… she wasn't going anywhere. "Come down and meet my new friend, mama. She has magic like you!" the girl let out a giggle and looked towards the dark lady that was holding her up in the air… and the smile that looked back at her didn't seem right.

"Let her go!!" the mother cried out.

"Come down here, priestess…" woman's soft voice commanded.

The mother moved to obey, her only thoughts that the monster below held her child at its mercy, but the other two witches moved to stop her. The priestess shook them both off and leapt down into the crater to stand several meters away from her daughter and the newcomer.

"Do you know who I am?" the shadowy figure asked.

"I—I do," the priestess replied.

"Good," the woman replied, pulling the child to her and holding Michaela in her arms… it was an unnatural sight. The priestess would have expected the woman to strangle her daughter, which the monster probably would if she didn't comply. "Go… rally your kinsman… the other tribes… tell them what you have seen. I will meet you all in a day's time at Aurilia."

"Aurilia has been destroyed since the Jedi came…" the priestess said cautiously.

A cold chuckle replied, "I would expect no less… but great futures are built upon the ruins of failure." The shadows around the mysterious woman began to twist up into the air, becoming tendrils and haze as they devoured the woman and her innocent hostage, "One day, priestess—one day." The darkness covered them, hiding them from sight. The dark haze slowly vanished in the daylight, running to where it belonged—shadows fleeing to sit behind objects. When it had disappeared… the woman was gone.

The priestess dropped to her knees and broke down into silent, chest shaking sobs… Her baby girl was gone—and Darth Virtra had returned.

-- -- -- -- -- --

"I need to contact the Jedi council," Sylir said indignantly.

Cai rolled her eyes and ignored the Jedi, continuing about the task she had previously been engaged in.

"I have to tell them what has happened!"

"No!" Cai snapped, holing a finger up to silence the impatient Jedi, "You need to keep that furry hide of yours alive… and the best way to do that is by getting rid of the holier than the rest of the galaxy outfit you are wearing. I swear you Jedi think that you can be inconspicuous in those robes?"

"They help us to focus on our services to the greater good and not on gaining worldly possession. We live our life in service to the Force and to those in need of our help," Sylir looked at the Nautolan sternly, "And we are not afraid to die in that service."

"Meanwhile you serve no greater good by being dead," she countered sarcastically, throwing a pale green shirt and a pair of black, loose cloth pants at the Cathar, "So put these on and stop complaining. Just think… the faster you pick something, the sooner I let you leave." Sylir glared at her, but with a heavy sigh that sounded like a _huff_,he marched off to one of the tiny stalls where the store would let him try the clothes on.

"My husband was like that the first time I asked him to try something new," a little old Bothan sidled up to Cai and patted her on the shoulder. "He's the most stubborn human I've ever known, but he thanked me once it was all over with."

"Uh! But we're not—" the distressed alien protested, her blue skin flushing to a deep indigo color; alas those protests fell upon thin air as the old woman toddled off to meet up with her husband who was waiting by the exit. As they left the store, Cai had to admit they made an adorable pair. "_Eh… she was senile, couldn't help it_," the trader thought to herself. Still, she had to admire their courage. Not many couples could bear the scrutiny of a mixed-species marriage.

"These boots are too small," Sylir growled from behind her.

Cai spun around to see the Jedi master looking at her sullenly and holding up the boots she'd shoved at him earlier. He had his robes thrown over one arm and the boots held towards her in the other, "I can't wear these."

"Well…" the Nautolan pondered, "What did you wear before?"

"I didn't…" he muttered, "The robes covered my feet enough that I didn't need to worry."

Cai nodded. It was not an uncommon thing to see alien races without shoes or other forms of foot coverings—Ithorians, Gungans, and Barabels in particular. There were some Cathar who had adapted to walking like humans, on full padded feet, but Sylir stood on the balls of his feet… giving him an extra few inches of height. He was unnaturally short for a Cathar.

"It won't be a problem," she muttered, "The pants have a slight flare so they're a bit baggy… you look fine." And that was the truth; the shirt matched his eyes and his fur didn't stand out either. Sylir had black fur around his eyes, and by making him wear the black pants… his white was much more subtle, unlike how it had stood out when the Jedi robes were on.

"It's different. I feel—lighter," the Jedi commented.

"Get used to it. You're not wearing those robes around me. Until we get you off planet and safely out of harms way… you wear normal clothing, I'm not having you get me killed because of a fashion statement," Cai guided him to the door, "How you managed with all those robes on… it's a galactic mystery." As they exited the shop, Cai slid some credits from the Jedi's travel fund onto the counter and dumped his robes in the trash compactor outside, despite Sylir's protests.

The mull of pedestrian traffic soon engulfed them, and they were on their way. Life was peaceful, despite the constant hum of chatter; Cai found herself enjoying the walk through the bustle of early morning on Abregado-rae. "You said you needed to contact Coruscant?" she asked the Cathar.

"Yes," Sylir was once again in that morbidly somber mood he'd developed since waking up. Cai was assuming that this was a new mood, at least she didn't think he was always like this. She hadn't known him for long, but from the way the little Zabrak was smiling at the trade negotiations… Cai had to assume that Sylir was a relatively nice person to be around—he had to be if a kid liked him, surely Jedi kids weren't so weird that they liked cold and moody masters.

"Alright," Cai tried to open conversation again, "We could try one of the communication hubs around here… but I'm pretty sure that you could be eavesdropped on. Plus, from what you have told me about this group that is after you—they seem fairly high tech, they may be monitoring public communiqué. You're safest bet would be waiting until we get to the Trade District. It's only an hour's walk or so…"

Sylir nodded, "Sounds fine to me."

With a sigh, Cai tried once again to entice the Jedi into talking, and once again Sylir didn't say much—it was a vicious circle that occupied them as they flowed with the crowd. Neither of the pair noticed the finely dressed Bith, and his two companions, who entered the store they had just left.

-- -- -- -- -- --

"They were here not too long ago," Marec murmured, more to himself than to his companions. The fashionably dressed Bith pulled a device from within the confines of his white suit jacket and viewed the readout with great intent. The former scientist, now headhunter, spoke with a crisp and formal accent from galactic basic… it made him sound to many individuals like he was condescending; such a thing was not the case—Marec just preferred not to butcher the language.

Tythus, the black armored squad leader, turned his illuminated blue gaze from surveying the shop to scrutinizing his tracker, "They? Didn't Allara confirm the minor target as neutralized?"

"Mmm, yes… she did," Marec didn't look up from the device. When the little, black, plasteel mechanism in his hand emitted a beep and several green lights flared on it's screen, the Bith looked up and gave his species' version of a smile, "The Jedi is now traveling with a Nautolan. They left no more than a few minutes ago."

"Then we could find them in a matter of moments," Tythus growled, turning to exit the store.

"We are overdue for an update with Allara," Perel said quietly, speaking up from her position by the door. The blonde woman was several inches taller than Tythus and even leaning against the doorframe, she towered over the black armored soldier. They did not know what species Tythus belonged to, but it was believed that since neither he, nor his brother, had ever removed their helmets—they must be of a species that did not breathe oxygen as a life sustaining gas. But human or not… Tythus would think twice before tangling with Perel.

"Screw the update! We can call her when we have results," Tythus snarled. The visor of his helmet pulsed with an even brighter illumination than normal.

"No," Marec voiced elegantly, "The penalty for not following protocol is far worse than any glory we may receive for bringing the target down. We call in."

The Bith gave a nod to Perel, and the Amazonian drew a communicator from one of her belts. With a few fine tunings for the channel, they had soon patched into the secure network of communications for the Toran'ak. "This is advance squad reporting in." Tythus growled and stalked out of the building, but he was not allowed out of the watchful sight of their Bith companion.

"This is Allara," a familiar and terrifying voice came across the line, "Your report was due ten minutes ago."

"Apologies, madam," Perel said politely, "We were investigating a lead and the anomaly took longer to analyze that anticipated."

"Anomaly?" Allara's voice did not sound happy.

"It would appear that the target has gained a Nautolan companion… it's possible that he has already joined up with others. We have no way of knowing for certain." There was a long silence over the comm-channel, and Perel would have sworn that the connection had been severed… if not for the red light indicating that she was still connected with the other party. "Umm…"

"You will return at once," Allara said finally, "There is a new standing operation in order. We have more targets en-route, and we are going to need everyone here for briefing. This is not what I would have wanted, but we can augment the plan, and it may work even better than I originally anticipated. Our elusive Jedi can be bait. Leave immediately, I'll expect you in no less than an hour."

This time the communication was ended. Perel nodded silently to herself, knowing that Tythus was not going to enjoy this newest order; however, the Amazonian personally felt better about this newest development. So far the Cathar had been able to evade and survive their current efforts… and Perel was in no hurry to face this Jedi with a small tracking squad. While her skills were great, this Jedi had proven himself to be adept at survival… and, when hunted, survival came at the price of lives—your own… or those of the ones that hunt you.

"What is our course?" Marec asked, knowing full well that Allara would have had something noteworthy to say.

"We return to the apartment…" she avoided looking at Tythus, "Apparently we have a new operation."

"What!?" The black armored commando roared, "Why, when we are this close?"

"We have more targets on their way," Perel snapped, "This takes priority. Allara says that the target can become bait. This is a training exercise… we're here to perfect our coordination, not to go against orders."

"No! My brother died for something more than a training exercise," The blue visor flickered violently, "I'm not letting the Jedi get away!"

Tythus turned to storm after the Jedi, but Marec was suddenly in front of the soldier. Perel was worried that the small Bith would be harmed by their angry companion, but before Tythus could even make a move to dislodge his current roadblock—the Bith slammed a fist into the black armored chest. Brilliant tendrils of blue electricity danced over Tythus's black armored body, and there was a short high pitched whine. Marec stepped back and removed his hand a mere moment later and all activity stopped, including Tythus.

Perel looked from each of her companions to the other, confused for a moment, until she took a closer look at Marec's hand which had delivered the blow. In the tracker's grip was a thin, silver device with fronds on the end. The alien had struck Tythus with some sort of device…

"A physiological disruptor…" Marec said quaintly, motioning to the statuesque Tythus. "It sends large amounts of electrical energy into the central nervous system… and it works on most humanoid and bi-pedal mammalian species. I surmised it would work equally as well on our friend here. Do you think you can carry him, Perel?"

The Amazonian nodded, picking up the armored man and tossing him over her shoulder with ease, "This will make getting back within Allara's time limit a bit difficult."

Marec chucked, turning on his heel and heading into the crowd of pedestrians that were walking in the direction of their destination. "If there is one thing I know about Allara… she takes everything into account. We will make it in time if we hurry."

-- -- -- -- -- --

"Central communications this is Delta Scout… we have located targets."

"Delta this is Lovast. Report."

A young man in his twenties, dressed in the blue security armor of Zeltros, surveyed the scene around him before giving his report. His partner, an older Bothan was currently examining one of the bodies. "The Sith is dead, a lightsaber wound to the chest… add to that a fifty story fall into jagged rocks and low tide currents; I promise you it's not a pretty sight. We've located the body and brought it up to the top of the cliff where we found the Jedi."

"Old broad is dead as a bantha steak," the Bothan sniffed, standing to his feet.

"The Jedi and the Sith appear to have done each other in, sir," the young man finished his report over the communication channel.

"Well that's another training site that we can scratch," Lovast commented, "You boys pack up their lightsabers for the commander and make your way back, understood?"

"There's a slight problem with that, sir," the young man looked around him, "The Sith doesn't seem to have a lightsaber. We found a few destroyed pieces of metal on the beach that… could have been a lightsaber at one time, but nothing else."

"Then look for some sort of identification or take a picture… you know that she won't take your word as enough, boy. Get your act together and pack up that operation. We'll expect a communication from Ansion within two days."

"Yes, sir!" the boy waited until Lovast had ended the transmission before pocketing the comm device.

"Whew… those two tore up the beach," the Bothan looked over the cliff's edge, "I betcha that would have been a fight worth seeing. I find it hard to believe that some old bag and a young girl like that could pose much of a threat."

The boy scoffed, "Baron… to be an old bag you have look old. The Jedi lady is actually rather pretty…"

"White hair son…" the Bothan pointed to the dead Jedi, "That indicates age, and the pale skin… she's old. Your species is disgusting enough when their young… when it gets old you just fall apart."

"So do you," the man muttered and went over to kneel by the Jedi. She had her lightsaber still clutched in her had, holding it rather tightly in death.

"Rav! What are you doing?" the Bothan shouted from his perch on the cliff's edge.

The boy ignored his surly companion and took a good look at the Jedi. True… she had white hair and pale skin, but it was fair… heck the Jedi didn't look much older than he was—perhaps thirty years old? Baron didn't know what he was talking about; the Bothan was drunk more often than he was sober, and the only reason the Toran'ak kept him around was that he had a good string of underworld contacts.

"I am sorry about this…" Rav muttered to the Jedi, reaching down to open her grip and take the lightsaber.

The moment his fingers touched her flesh, the Jedi's eyes shot open and her mouth gaped for breath. She filled her lungs with a quiet hiss and locked upon those of the boy… she didn't seem to know that anything was going on, and Rav was definitely scared out of his mind. But he was fixated upon her eyes—they were hoary, like deep pools of quicksilver, yet all through them, like the lattice work of a snowflake, they were intricately laced with purest blue… they were amazing.

It was the last thing Rav ever thought. The Jedi was upon her feet in an instant, her lightsaber sparking to life and deflecting a blaster bolt that came from somewhere—from Baron who was yelling something… Rav didn't hear it as his head bounced to the ground, separated from his shoulders by a clean and efficient stroke of the violet lightsaber blade.

"Rav!!" the Bothan yelled, firing off shots furiously at the Jedi, but he might as well have tried to kill her with a child's toy gun. Each one of the blaster bolts were quickly and effortlessly knocked away.

Baron watched in slow motion as the Jedi threw a hand at him—and he was flying, launched into the air on invisible wings. He felt the wind in his fur, the salt water laden air in his nostrils… and then he was falling, screaming… and his last breath was crushed from his lungs upon the rocks below. His death was witnessed by only a single being, a lone warrior who stood upon the top of the cliff and looked down upon his broken form—and there was anything but pity on her face.

-- -- -- -- -- --


	6. Of Meetings and Ultimatums

**Hello to all! Welcome to chapter six! **

**I wanted to ask my readers a few questions first.** 1.) Do you like the chapter titles? I noticed that I have been doing "Of this" and "Of that" but I have other titles that I have come up with. I always make at least two titles for my chapters... so I wanted your opinions. I don't know if I like the "Of's" so I wanted to get your take on this. 2.) If you had your choice... would you prefer this story to end on a cliffhanger with the promise of a second book, or would you like it to be finished to completion? I've been doing the outline, and I have a nice ending for book 1 and a good jump forward into book 2, but I don't know if that will be best for the story. So I'm going to ask you this now... and then ask you again when I get to the "_possible_" ending for the story.

Now that we have those out of the way, I would like to speak a little bit about the chapter. This introduces a lot of elements that I had forgotten about (not really forgotten, but they took the wayside... so I had to go back and tweak my outline) so if you go and look at the schedule on my profile... you will see that I have several chapters outlined now. I really like this chapter because of the possible political intrigues, and the thoughts that go through some of the characters minds. It's an interesting character study for me. Also, last chapter, you got to meet Darth Virtra. She is... the master antagonist for our story. She's evil. I don't think anyone doubts that, and I'm glad. A story needs evil, and with Allara... I'm afraid her story doesn't give you that option. You may hate her, but she's obviously doing her thing for a reason. Virtra is just Virtra... it's a name that I want to be synonymous with evil. She's my favorite creation and I hope you enjoy seeing what she has in store for the galaxy. I introduce the Chancellor of the Republic in this chapter. We just had the Memorial, so you know it's back to business... I think you'll like his section. I was going for a very Churchill meets Lyndon Johnson when I devised the Chancellor. He's a politician... and he knows how to be one. I also don't know if I surprised any of you with An'ya Kuro's awakening/survival of her ordeal, but I think I got some of you. I only hope that I continue to bring worthwhile surprises.

As always, thank you to my readers, especially those of you who have reviewed me each step of the way. I'm very thankful for your continued support. **I will continue to give private author's notes for each review** **I receive** (unless you tell me you do not want them). I will give you feedback on everything you bring up in your review, and I promise that I won't spoil the story with my notes either. This is my way of saying thank you to my readers for your time and consideration.

I think I've taken enough of my own time! On with the good part!  
**_~Sarai~_**

* * *

"We're nearing the Trade District now," Cai warned, "Do you have the lightsaber where you can reach it?"

Sylir snorted, insulted that she would even ask a Jedi Master, much less a member of the council, if he had his lightsaber within reach. "It's clipped to my belt as it always has been. This shirt is long enough to conceal it, but the Force will allow me to draw it at a second's notice."

The trader captain looked at her Cathar companion with a disparaged eye, "I just want to have all my bases covered in case these people are waiting for you."

"Oh, they won't be waiting for us."

Cai spun around with a look of incredulity on her face. "These hunters have been on you ever since that first sniper you told me about and you don't think they'd have the Trade District watc—"

Sylir gently turned the Nautolan around so that she could get a decent look at Trade Plaza. Dozens of security speeders were parked and hovering; their security lights pulsing and warning people of imminent danger while hundreds of Central Security personnel were buzzing about—forming people into lines as they evacuated the gates of the central hub of trade and export on Abregado-rae. Humans, Bothans, Twi'leks and other humanoid species in blue and gold armor were corralling citizens into organized venues of traffic: those leaving the district were sent to the south and those attempting to enter the district were rerouted to the north… Sylir and Cai were coming up to the nearest security block.

"Doh…" Cai breathed, her already large eyes growing wider, "What the hell is going on?"

"I'd be willing to bet that my new friends have something to do with this," Sylir's voice turned into a low purring-growl as he grabbed Cai's arm, using the Force to easily slip through the crowd and circumvent the security block.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"You are the head of the Trader's Guild, yes?"

"Uh… yeah," Cai looked nervously around the plaza. She was getting extremely anxious around this much security.

"So you have clearance to get in," the Jedi stated this as a matter-of-fact.

"On normal days…" The Nautolan frowned.

They were almost to the main entrance of the Trade District when an angry woman appeared out of nowhere, shouting for them to stop, "What the blazes are you people doing?! You can't be here!" The woman was wearing blue and silver armor and a shining silver officer's cap, unlike any of the other security personnel in the plaza, and her black hair was pulled up into a military bun of the old Imperial style… she was old school—and she looked it.

"Um… we were trying to get to the Trade District docking area," Cai hurriedly spit out.

"And you're lucky I don't book you right here!" the woman snapped, "I don't know how many more people I need to bring onto the scene, in order to convey the message: I don't want people in there!"

"But—"

"No _buts_!" the officer snarled.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Sylir interrupted with a cool voice, his emerald eyes seeming to calm the security woman before them… but he used as much persuasion in the Force as he could, "But are you the person in charge of all this?"

"Is it difficult to notice?" she asked with heavy sarcasm.

"Not at all, I just wanted to know who I was addressing…"

"Administrator Siliah Kahn," the woman in her mid-fifties huffed, looking over to a group of security officers that weren't doing their job to her satisfaction, "YOU THREE!! GET YOUR BUTTS IN GEAR BEFORE I SPACE THEM!" The trio of security officers was startled, yelping and moving as quickly as they could to find work. The Administrator looked the Cathar up and down, "Apologies for that…"

"Sylir," the Jedi bowed politely.

"Mr. Sylir, but I'm afraid I cannot allow you or anyone into the Trade District at this time."

"I have clearance," Cai offered her ID docs to the officer, but Administrator Kahn didn't even bother to look at them.

"Look! Lady… not even my people have authorization to go in there. We just received a level five terrorist threat upon the Trade District that could wipe out not only this entire area but several dozen city block beyond it," the Administrator's stress level was now becoming apparent, and it wasn't without cause, "I have to evacuate the district, the surrounding homes, warehouses, and businesses… then move all the people into a safety zone, while preparing lodging and food—not to mention that I have to get specialists down here to scan the Trade District from top to bottom before I can give an all clear, or before the whole thing goes up in flames… I can't allow two idiotic citizens who think they are better at my job than me—to go traipsing through there and set off what is possibly a very volatile and deadly explosive device."

Sylir didn't want to bring to light that there was probably not an explosive device in the Trade District, nor did he want to bring to the Administrator's attention that he was possibly the cause for the terrorist threat—he had a feeling that his hunters would do anything to keep him from contacting the Jedi or getting off-planet.

"You do realize that his could be an entire ruse just to rob the Trade District of millions of dollars in priceless merchandise, expensive spices and valuable antiques!" Cai was exasperated. The Nautolan's head tentacles almost stood completely rigid—she was furious, and it was legitimate.

"I'm well aware, and they should all be insured… and that's a risk I'm going to have to take," the Administrator's tone, along with her steely glare bode no further argument, "Now the two of you turn around and go back the way you came!"

"Surely we could assist you?" Sylir spoke up.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I don't need help from citizens," the head of Central Security was definitely not bothering with formality, "There have been a series of reports about violent outbreaks in the hangar district… I lost several good operatives in an explosion and a detective is missing."

The Cathar nodded, "All the more reason to get help were you can."

The poor idiot Jedi thought he was being helpful, but Cai could tell from the look on Administrator Kahn's face that she was not only irritated, but she was getting suspicious. "_Stupid Jedi and their guilt complexes_…" the Nautolan thought. Sylir was blaming himself and in his mind he probably thought—that by alleviating this terrorist threat; such an act would erase some of his previous failure and loss. It was coping mechanism…even if it was a bad one. He was becoming insistent about something a security officer was set against—that was going to cause problems.

Still, she knew why he was insisting. Sylir hadn't been able to save anyone around him up to this point. Cai felt a sudden pang of sorrow for the Jedi, and she realized that he hadn't even spoken once about his padawan. "_He must be grieving_…" she told herself, "_How does he keep those feelings inside?_" There was a sudden glimmer of a thought: that perhaps Jedi did not feel loss for their dead, but then Cai remembered the look on Sylir's face when he had first awakened… he definitely felt grief, but he was repressing.

"I need to see some identification after all," Administrator Kahn held out her hand, looking at Sylir with an apprehensive squint of her eyes.

"Don't listen to him," Cai said through a set of grinning teeth, grabbing Sylir by the arm, "We were just leaving."

Struggling against her insistent tugging, the feline Jedi looked like he was going to say something else—something would undoubtedly get them into deeper trouble. With a glare that could have melted durasteel, the Nautolan spacer silenced him. She didn't speak until they were back into the throng of evacuating pedestrians, moving at a good clip from the collection of security forces. The further they moved from the investigation—the easier Cai's nerves felt.

"Why didn't you let her take our identification?" Sylir growled, "We could have helped them."

"Or you could have ended up arrested," Cai pointed out, "You don't think they haven't been investigating those other incidents you were involved in? Securities people take it very personal when one of their own gets murdered… you don't want to mess with them or be a part in anything to do with it—otherwise you're fair game. That Jennings fellow, you were the last one with him right?"

"Yes…" Sylir said apprehensively. He could see where this was going and he didn't like it, nor did he agree with it.

"Well you'd be hauled in for questioning—and that would place you in perfect sights for whoever is hunting you."

With an angry snort the Cathar nodded in agreement and trudged along in silence. It didn't bother Cai in the least—rather she as glad to see the Jedi brooding again, and the Nautolan was more than happy to let the man brood… she was also relieved. The security administrator had worried Cai; the trader captain not wanting her ID docs looked at too closely, she was very glad to have a cover-up reason for their hasty retreat. Cai wasn't lying to anyone when she said that she wanted to change… but she definitely didn't want her past coming home from vacation to ruin that chance.

The Jedi definitely wouldn't travel with her anymore if he were to learn about it. "_He'd probably arrest me—might even kill me_," Cai thought with a chuckle… such a morbid sense of humor she had. "_No, he can't get rid of me just yet. He's going to need me if he wants to get off this planet… and I'm going to need him if I want to make a clean break_."

-- -- -- -- -- --

Everyone was assembled.

Allara turned her brown eyes upon each and every being in the apartment, thirty-three in all. This was what she had to work with at the moment: the best, the brightest, the most dangerous, and the most skilled beings the galaxy had to offer—that she could recruit. Some had refused to join, and that was perfectly fine by Allara. Soon they would see, she had told them to be watching. And once this operation was a success, the Toran'ak would become the premier, elite force in the galaxy. Those who knew about it would either join—or to put it simply: they would be silenced.

However, she needed to focus on the present, and presently Allara had managed a masterful stroke: two more Jedi were on their way. This would be the perfect addition to their test. Jedi Master Sylir had proven to be an elusive target, but so far all means of getting off planet had been shut down, and if he attempted to make a transmission to the Jedi Temple they would catch it. Now was the time to finish building the web—so that when the second Jedi team arrived…

They would pull it shut and catch their prey unawares.

"You all know that this is our ultimate test," Allara said calmly, "We've all joined together for a common goal: the Jedi, the Sith… those who use their force for their own devices must be stopped." Her stance was rigid, erect with the monumental importance of the message she was trying to convey, "I do not deny that there are those who have used the force and done good, but the sad truth is this: the majority of the galaxy's turmoil—the war, the genocide, the empires—it has been caused by those who use the force and use that power to control those who do not have it. We are here to stop them. We are here to prove that mundane people like ourselves…

"The weapon masters," Allara looked to Perel, Lovast, and Rhiar.

"The weapon smiths," She looked to Brejec, the old military man sat in a corner cleaning a rifle and watching her with great interest.

"The experts in their craft," Marec was smiling at her, but Allara did not know if it was because he felt impressed—or if he had envisioned yet another bizarre yet useful device.

"And the hunters," she made eye contact with each individual in the room, including Calixa and Varesk—both who were stoic in their features. All of the individuals had dealt with Jedi or Sith in the past, whether they had met one personally or had been affected by proxy… each hunter knew that both Orders were capable of harm.

"You have joined this cause, not for revenge, but because true justice cannot be dealt with a court. A real solution cannot be forged with words or with law, because both can be changed," Allara drew one of her polished blasters and held it before the gathered group, "A true resolution comes from the cleansing fire of a blaster's bolt. It is swift. It is pure. It is absolute."

"The power you wield is a burden far greater than that of the Jedi, and far more addictive than that of the Sith. You are dispensing justice when the rest of the galaxy will be against you. You must be fast and efficient; silent and deadly—and above all you cannot allow your emotions to affect your judgment."

At these words there was a soft moan and a rustle of metal on metal. All eyes turned to the black armored form which lay on the floor behind Allara. Tythus had regained consciousness. He still appeared disoriented from his encounter with Marec's device, but it was not difficult for him to notice that he had just interrupted something very important—the cold look in Allara's eyes was enough to convey this message.

"Welcome back, Tythus," the Toran'ak leader smiled, her voice completely calm. She brought the blaster around with blurring speed and fired off a single shot into the glowing faceplate of the man before her. Tythus's form jerked once as it fell limp; the blue glow flickering before it faded… and soon the only movement was that of the smoke rising through the blaster hole in the visor's glass.

"As I was saying," Allara continued, not missing a beat, "You cannot allow your emotions to affect any decision you make. Do so and you not only put your life in jeopardy, but those of everyone around you—that places our mission at risk. It will not be allowed."

With a deft move that did not even require a look, Allara holstered her weapon, "This training exercise weeds out the chaff. When the Jedi arrive in forty-eight hours… you will all be ready. Lovast, give each individual a databrief on their task. You are all dismissed."

The gathering slowly dispersed. No one felt that the proceedings were shocking; no individual was appalled. As Tythus's body was removed from the apartment, the only thoughts given to the deceased were those of pity and scorn. The Toran'ak was not a group of sympathetic philanthropists. They were a group of beings who knew how to complete a job… and when one of the members failed—it only proved that they weren't cut out for the profession. It was a waste of time, talent, and resources.

Pity…

-- -- -- -- -- --

"That was an elegant speech you gave yesterday, Master Cross," Chancellor Wilhelm Evreux beamed, welcoming Dain into the inner portion of his large office.

"Thank you, sir."

The Chancellor offered the Jedi a seat before walking behind his desk and getting comfortable, "I'd say you have a little politics in your background, son… am I right?"

"No at all I'm afraid," Dain was being honest. He didn't quite know if he liked Chancellor Evreux yet. They man had been elected by nearly unanimous acclaim, supported by both Bail Organa and Mon Mothma… but he seemed ambitious—which was understandable; the Chancellor had lived on Coruscant for all fifty-one years of his life, and he had been mired in politics for almost as long. The man had survived Palpatine's destruction of the Republic, the complete mockery of the Senate… and still to this day had operated on the same platform of unity, justice and equality for all species; however, it was difficult to tell if it was bureaucracy or honesty. Behind the Chancellor's smiling and heart-warming face… true intentions were difficult to glean.

"Well that doesn't matter," the man waved the issue aside and jumped straight into why they were really here: "I'm quite concerned about the Jedi Order's sudden disappearance from the celebration… is everything suitable?"

"Quite suitable, sir," Dain was careful with his words. This wasn't a subject he was ready to talk about, what with having no concrete information, and he was cautious about saying anything without talking to the council first.

"Then why did you leave? It makes a bad impression!" The Chancellor looked hurt, but the Grand Master knew this was nothing more than an act. The only thing Wilhelm Evreux really worried about was appearance: he didn't want the Jedi to become a liability—especially with the public's split opinion about them. "We're lucky that Master Bilaba stayed behind! At least you were represented for the duration of the memorial."

"_So that's where she was_," the Jedi master mused to himself. He had wondered why Depa hadn't show up for the council meeting; such a thing wasn't like her. Normally Depa would be all over An'ya Kuro's role of squashing the darkside at every turn—something was definitely amiss. Perhaps the memorial had brought about a bad wash of old feelings? Dain made a mental note to ask her about it once he returned to the temple. "Something urgent had come up… Master Bilaba was gracious enough to represent our interests." It was the best he could come up with at the time.

"Something came up…" the Chancellor pondered, looking troubled, "Something that required all the Jedi to leave? I must say this troubles me greatly… it doesn't have to deal with more fighting does it? The public isn't ready for another war."

"No!" Dain interrupted hastily, "It's nothing like that! We just had… a feeling. Something created a rather large disturbance in the force, which we all felt. The Council decided the best course of action was to convene and discuss what could have caused it."

"And?" there was a definite urge there for information.

"Without further meditation all I could give you is guesswork, Chancellor," Dain said, and edge to his voice. He didn't like to be pressured by anyone, and this was Jedi business first and foremost. "It mainly concerns the Jedi if anything, with all due respect sir."

"With all due respect…" the Chancellor mimicked him. The man put both hands together and put the tips of both index fingers under his chin, as if the words held some deep and profound meaning. Finally he smacked his lips with a consternation which echoed in the quiet room, "Dain… when the Republic was reinstated—it was a very difficult and tentative decision to allow the Jedi back as an established and lawful organization—a move that was very costly for this establishment. A majority of the public is still wary of the Jedi—after the Clone Wars and the Empire… the Force isn't a popular entity."

"Most of that unpopularity thanks to Palpatine."

The Chancellor cringed at Dain's interjection of the former Emperor, "Yes… but just because rumors may have been false… people still believe them. The public are concerned." Wilhelm held his hands out as if clearing himself of the guilt and the doubt; he was showing that he wasn't the villain here. Politicians never liked to take the blame. "The Order hangs on a very slippery slope my friend. The Jedi promised when they came back: no more secrets… no secluded workings… they were going to be there for the people," the Chancellor looked apologetic, "It did not go unnoticed that all of you vanished… and it has started whisperings that could grow out of control."

"Dain…" placing both hands on the desk, Chancellor Evreux gave the Grand Master a concerned and imploring look, "I can't help you if you don't give me something to go on."

There it was—the ultimatum. Tell me what you know… otherwise you are on your own. Dain let out a deep sigh, defeat settling upon him with a heavy weight; he could feel it on his chest. This man would win every time if this continued; defeat such as this was difficult for a warrior who had faced several Sith Lords and an Empire… the Chancellor wasn't even the lowest class of a warrior. Humiliated and tired, Dain finally nodded, "We believe… that Master An'ya Kuro was able to finally track down Virtra's last Sith Lord: Darth Bicara. The Council is in agreement that Darth Bicara is deceased… possibly at the cost of Master Kuro's life."

"Why that is wonderful news!" The Chancellor exclaimed, sparing a brief glimpse of feigned sorrow for the sake of appearance, "Of course the Jedi's loss will not go unnoticed! This is a time for celebration! On the day after a great memorial, the Republic gains another victory!!"

Dain did not feel victorious, and after a few minutes of pleasantries… he excused himself and left the office. "_So this is how it is going to be_?" the Jedi questioned himself, "_We get to live in the Republic with the price that we are its slaves_?" Dain wondered if this is how the Jedi were established in the beginning… thousands of years ago. For some reason he doubted it. The thought did nothing to wash away his sense of defeat; he had failed along the way—somehow. "_What would you do, Master Yoda_?" As always, Dain's silent plea was left unanswered. The dead never spoke—and how could they? Death's greatest gift was eternal rest… and its greatest curse was that it left people alone.

-- -- -- -- -- --

Aurilia was in ruins…

Of course after more than a decade of abandonment any pristine site would be; however, the once proud stronghold was little more than a vestige of its former glory. There had been a time when its glistening durasteel walls, now slag marked, rusted and blown to bits, had shown with majesty. The factories that remained were now in disrepair while others were merely crumbled slabs or a barely standing wall—but once, in an age forgotten, the most magnificent vessels of destruction had been created within their depths.

Fleets of black Star Destroyers, modified from the Imperial class to meet Darth Virtra's sadistic tastes, had taken their first soaring flight into space from this very spot—while other facilities just as impressive—on Sullust and other worlds—had created their brethren. Many of the Dathmiri women and men could remember their time enslaved at this monstrous site of decadence and glory—evil had never looked more perfect.

…and now it lay asunder.

The chieftains and priestess of all the Dathmiri tribes—the Nightsisters, the Singing Mountain Clan, the Dreaming River tribe—along with all the others had gathered here upon whisper and superstition, but it was a rumor that none of them were willing to ignore. The Dark Mistress, commander of all that had fallen here in Aurilia, had returned—she would not be pleased.

The Rebellion, now the newly returned Republic, had done quite a work over on the Sith stronghold. They had destroyed everything to ensure that none of the horrible machines of war were ever created again. Virtra's Sith forces had been eradicated, their master vanished, and the galaxy's denizens believed themselves to be at peace. Well that would no longer be the case—not any more.

Three score of Force-sensitive beings stood in the middle of the Sith ruins, standing before the one structure that had not been rendered completely unrecognizable—a black spire shooting up into the sky, several hundred stories tall—before the republic had struck; it was not a jagged thorn of black stone. The Black Tower had been the inner sanctum of the Sith… it was nothing more than a ruin of it's former glory, standing little more than fifty meters into the air; however, its ability to inspire fear was not diminished—rather it was heighten, a warped and distorted chill fell over all beings gathered when the tower's master made her appearance.

In a swirl of shadows and darkness, melting from within the night itself, the imposing figure of woman took center stage. Standing on the steps of her own ruin, holding a small human child in her arms, the cold and merciless gaze of Darth Virtra took in the crowd who had come to meet her.

"So gather the few unfaithful…" the woman's voice was cold and harsh, but she did not make a move towards the crowd. "How quickly you are to forget." With a movement that was slow and elaborate Virtra bent down and set the child to her feet. The Sith gave a single nod and told Michaela that she could return to her mother. Not thinking anything of it, the child bounced down the steps and happily ran into her mother's arms. The priestess of the Singing Mountain Clan grabbed her daughter up, holding her as if never wanting to let her go again, and tried with little avail to keep the tears from streaming down her face.

"You claim to be Darth Virtra," a brazen young woman spoke up. Her skin was white as snow with black snaking tattoos across her brow, encircling her eyes. She wore tattered robes of a dark blue material which set her apart from the others in her entourage. "If your claim is true… why have you returned?"

"Daughter of the Clan of Night," Virtra whispered, "Yours was a place of honor, yet now you show such defiance…"

The chieftain of the Nightsisters scoffed, "We were nothing more the exceptional soldiers for Virtra! Pawns with the use of the darkside—there was no honor to be found."

"If you are who you claim," the priestess of the Singing Mountain Clan stood up, forcing Michaela behind her, "Then we have our own test…"

The Dark Lord raised an amused eyebrow at the bold witch, a small smile tweaking the corner of her mouth. Suddenly several witches from the Nightsister and Dreaming River groups lunged from the shadows. The amateur assassins carried a variety of older style weaponry—force pikes and vibro-swords—but Virtra had to applaud them for their tenacity.

As the first of the group reached the Sith, Virtra ducked under the decapitating strike of a vibro-sword and there was a flash of red. Following quickly on the heels of the first witch, came two other witches. They carried short plasma blades, precursors to the lightsaber, and came at the Sith from both sides. Virtra dropped to one knee, throwing out both arms as if she were curtsying to the gathered audience, and another quick flash of crimson lit up the shocked faces of her attackers.

The three would-be assassins all fell to the floor with charred and smoking holes through their hearts—the attempt over in mere seconds. Several of the other witches, who had before entertained thoughts about attacking the dark woman, slowly began backing away. Virtra stood, rising to her full height—the look of amusement no longer present in her face. In her hands were two cylinders of polished stone, and the gathered witches knew exactly how their comrades had fallen. "Who was foolish enough to devise that little test?"

No one felt inclined to speak at Virtra's words; rather they just exchanged looks with one another—their looks ranging from terrified to calculating. The priestess from the Singing Mountain bent down to her daughter, whispering a warning as she urged her daughter through the back of the gathered crowd… Their ignorance looked to have played itself out.

But looks can be deceiving.

"I, Diazia, Clan mother of the Nightsisters, challenge your claim," the white skinned leader parted from the crowd. She dashed up the steps towards the Sith with a speed that could only have come from the Force. In her hands a brilliant blade of emerald light sparked to life, and Virtra's eyes widened in amazement at the child's stupidity.

Crimson light sparked and clashed against green, the Sith Lord's parry sending Diazia stumbling backwards. "You aren't worthy of holding such an elegant weapon," Virtra murmured, "It's not a sword or an ax... it is the tool of an artist; practiced and perfected through the ages—" Her words were cut short by the viridian blade, humming through the air towards her face. Virtra leaned backwards, barely dodging the weapon, and watched with amazement as the saber's cycling spin returned it to the witch who had thrown it. She knew how to use that stolen weapon, even if it was amateur knowledge.

Nightsister stared down Sith. Diazia held her green blade before her to ward off any sudden attacks. Not for a moment did she believe this was Darth Virtra, but she was not foolish enough to ignore the skill of her opponent. This woman had just killed three well trained Dathmiri warriors in less time than it took to speak about the act—she was deadly. Virtra, on the other hand, still did not have her weapons constantly ignited. She stood with the inactive hilts of her lightsabers hanging in her loose arms. Virtra stood impassive and calm as her dark red eyes took measure of her opponent.

"Well…" she taunted, "Are you going to try again?" Virtra smiled again, that cold chilling grin that warped every meaning the gesture should show. What could it hurt to play around with the girl? After all—the Sith had not exercised her skills in years. Not that this would be an exercise, but it could be enjoyable. The Nightsister nodded, perhaps to still her raging nerves, and then she attacked.

Diazia was a skilled warrior, or at least she would have been by her own people's standards. She attacked Virtra with precise strikes, never repeating her attacks and never leaving herself open. The Sith Lord, however, only had a single crimson blade ignited—blocking each and every attack as if they were in a choreographed dance. Even though she was defending, Virtra consistently controlled the duel, blocking and sidestepping; she forced Diazia around the small area in a circle. Pushing the girl backwards and then drawing her attacks to the side, as she spun elegantly away when it looked like the Nightsister could have an opening. It was a taunting ballet, and Virtra's skill was seductive and subtle.

Diazia was panting now, the battle couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but it felt as if she had been doing this for hours. The Nightsister's pale skin was flushed, her clothing soaked through with the perspiration of fear and exhaustion—while the Sith was still treating this battle like it were a calm stroll in the night. Seeking help from the darkside, the Nightsister acted out of desperation. Diazia called upon the darkness that she could feel in the Force, summoning energy around her and throwing out her free hand towards her opponent.

Twirling, sparking lines of electricity jumped from the dark nailed tips of her white hand. The Force lightning lanced for Virtra, and struck her full in the chest, but it did nothing save for flow around the dark woman's body. The Sith stood tranquil while the lightning seemingly embraced her like an old friend, dancing across her flesh and form. The brilliant electricity burned small holes in Virtra black garment, but did no harm to the Sith, physically. With a gasping sigh, the Nightsister had to release the dark energy— her current strength no longer able to hold a constant stream.

Virtra was then upon her, a spinning black storm of impressive might. Too late did Diazia recognize her own folly. As she watched the Sith Lord blindly deflect another of her strikes; the Clan leader found herself horribly outmatched and completely under skilled.

Meanwhile Virtra found herself growing bored. The Sith had seen the extent of this insect's power and she found it lacking. With an expert parry, Virtra locked the witch's blade to her own, pushing against the now frail-looking warrior. Daizia's muscles strained to keep her own blade from cutting her, her eyes widening with fear as she saw her own death mirrored in the eyes of her opponent. Ruthlessly, Virtra's second blade sparked to life—the crimson saber severing the Nightsister's arms at the elbow.

The emerald saber blade vanished as it fell to the ground, still clutched in the grip of two lifeless forearms, their cauterized stumps still glowing in the cool night. With fluid grace, Virtra's blades reattached themselves to her belt and her hand gripped Diazia's throat—lifting the defeated warrior from her feet. "The darkness is mine…" Virtra whispered, the Sith's eyes burning cold with murderous intent. Force lightning erupted into the frightened witch's throat, racking her body and making visible the internal structure of her skeletal form as it ripped a pained screech from her throat.

Virtra dropped the lifeless carcass to the stone below, smoke still escaping Diazia's mouth, forever opened in silent horror; then the Sith turned her angry gaze upon the gathered. Lightning jumped to life in her palms, dancing its way up her bare arm in an entrancing flux. "You witches have forgotten your place!" Virtra snarled, "It's time you learned why Dathomir was mine… and will always be mine."

The Sith held her hands out over the crowd, giving anything but a blessing. With a shockwave that resounded like a thunderclap, the Dathmiri people were forced to their knees as a rain of Sith dominance racked their bodies. Pain and agony poured up from the crowd—some wished for death, others for a release from the pain, many cursed the heavens for even coming to bear witness; but Virtra was not a fool. They were of no use to her dead. As soon as she was satisfied, knowing they were not about to attempt anything foolish, the torment ended. The storm of lightning stopped.

Slowly descending the steps her eyes searched for the Priestess of the Singing Mountain. Virtra headed for the woman amid the pained cries and despairing moans, noticing something peculiar about the witch's posture. The Priestess was huddled over something—ah, yes… her child. With callous disregard Virtra pulled the woman to her feet, ignoring the child who looked up at her with tear streaked eyes. "You will have Aurilia restored before my return in one month's time." The words were rough as they stung their way into the ears of the helpless witch.

"It's not possible…" the woman whispered, not even possessing the strength to look the demonic woman in the face.

"Allow me to rephrase," the Sith's tone was cold and emotionless, "You die now, or you die in one month if you have not succeeded. Which would you prefer: death… or a chance at life?"

The woman hesitated, and it was all that Virtra needed for an answer. The Sith Lord tossed the woman to the ground beside her child and walked away, "One month, Priestess… Do not disappoint me."

The woman of the Singing Mountain raised her head wearily, only to see that the Sith had vanished—gone into the night. She reached absentmindedly, robotically for her daughter; the woman pulling her child into her lap and cooing softly to still the tears. "Shhh, Michaela… shhh—It's going to be alright." They sat silently in the night, the mother rocking her child as the mournful and agonized cries of many rose to the stars above—their shining countenance offered no pity and no promise for salvation.

A gruff and disheveled man, who had managed to get to his feet, stumbled to sit next to the Priestess. It was Haorst, chieftain of the Misty Falls Clan. He was a younger man for his station… barely thirty years old, but he'd seen enough as a child to make him much older than most. "So the dark times are not over?"

"They never were…" the Priestess muttered.

Haorst nodded, "Then what do we do Ros Lai?"

"The only thing we can," the Priestess stood, looking to where the darkest being she had ever felt had vanished, "We gather the clans—we begin building."

"What about the Republic!?" he exclaimed, "Shouldn't we warn them?"

Ros Lai shook her head sorrowfully. "We have a duty to keep our people alive. Virtra said she would not be returning for a month—somehow..." she looked up to the majestic stars that hung in the perfectly clear night sky, watching as a dark shape streaked its way into the cold grip of space, "...I fear the Republic will have much more to worry about than our troubles."

-- -- -- -- -- --


	7. Of Personal Discovery

**Well it's another week and thus another update! _Whew~_!**

Just let me tell you that this has been a busy week. What with the loss of electricity for a full day and to the pick up of my hours at work (which I will never complain about), I have been fighting with Chapter 17 for about three days now... therefore making it the longest time I have ever spent on a chapter for SoA (not including outlining and editing. I spend so much time editing... you'd think I'd be able to catch all my mistakes). Today's chapter is back to the allure and mystery! No action... but hopefully you all enjoyed the end of chapter six. I personally enjoyed writing the fight scene there. Plus, last chapter, I was able to introduce an obscure EU character: Ros Lai. If any of you have read the Star Wars comics... you may remember that the last time she was seen was in an encounter with Quinlan Vos. She used to be a nightsister... (as was seen in the Star Wars game for the Nintendo DS. I haven't played it, but apparently her big act of evil was stealing a shipment of lightsaber crystals... whoo hoo!) and now she is the Priestess of the Singing Mountain Clan... how in the world did that happen? Huh?! I'm not telling, but I did want to bring that to people's attention.

This chapter introduces Jedi Master Depa Bilaba (to a greater degree than before). I also give her history, for people who don't know it... and I tell you how she managed to escape Order 66. Tell me if you believe it sounds plausible to you. I spent a great time thinking out a realistic and believable circumstance, so... just let me know. Let me see... what else... Oh! I want to send a gargantuan thank you (lovely word that, gargantuan) to realfanficts, PollyWantCookie, and VeralicProductions! They've given me a review every step of the way so far, and they have been wonderful in both support and speculation. Also a thank you to everyone one has caught my mistakes (which I constantly make and miss) and to those who are just starting my story. Hopefully I will capture your imaginations and you will join me for the rest of the journey!

Now go beyond this nonsense and read!  
_**~Sarai~**_

* * *

The water was cool and refreshing, it alleviated most of the tension in her body and washed away some of the dust and grit from earlier. An'ya brought both of her hands up to her face and pulled the warm, damp cloth over her features. The warm water brought new life to her body even though every inch of her ached, and she could feel the haze around her mind dissipating. As the rag travelled over her eyes and down to her mouth, An'ya was finally able to take a good look at herself in the small mirror of the refresher room—the evaluation was startling.

She was young… much too young for her age. The Jedi master had to place both hands on the water basin to steady herself. "How?" Her question was proffered to no one but her own mind. An'ya knew that she was closer to sixty standard years than she was to being fifty again, so why did she look as young as thirty? Bringing hands up to her face to feel, she could tell by the smooth and silky texture of her skin that it was not the trick of a mirror, and when she took a look at her own hands—the age, the worn skin… it was all regressed. An'ya Kuro—was young.

Yes, her hair was still white as it had been in age; yes she still had memories of what had taken place through her life up until falling unconscious hours ago. An'ya even remembered booking passage on the first shuttle to Coruscant. The only thing that was a blur in her life—was the moment when she first awoke. She had killed those security men; she watched as her blade did the decisive work. An'ya could still hear the screams as the Bothan fell to his death, but she hadn't really remembered why or how she had gotten to that point. The Jedi master stared at herself in the mirror again. She looked the same, albeit younger, but everything looked the same—wait…

The Dark Woman stared closer at her reflection; her eyes, normally silver and grey, looked different. As she peered into the mirror, An'ya could see why. Her irises had small glowing flecks of blue in them; and the more she watched her eyes, the smaller and smaller these flecks seemed to get until she could no longer see them. Her eyes looked completely normal.

An'ya felt as if something were off; there was a pressure in the back of her skull and that humming buzz was returning. A headache of unprecedented magnitude suddenly forced itself into existence, ripping a startled, rasping cry from An'ya's throat. Summoning the Force to soothe her worn out body and calm her nerves, the Jedi Master stood up to go rest—that was apparently the wrong combination. Her vision blurred, flashed white… and suddenly everything slipped into a shadow.

-- -- -- -- -- --

_Bicara had locked herself inside a room on the top floor of Virtra's Black Tower so that she would be allowed privacy for her newest endeavor. _

_Bicara… this was the title she had been given. _

_Virtra meant for her to be the destroyer and corrupter of life... such a job required that she be awe inspiring. She must look like one who would poison, and to this task she had decided to make herself look unlike the other lords.__Bicara removed a bottle of blue ink from her belongings... an item from her time as an artist; it was one of the few things she at actually brought with her. Once she had her goal in mind, the newly christened Sith decided to practice using the Force. Virtra had told her the Force would come naturally with the darkness—that her talent at sensing the earth could be amplified now that she knew what it was. Bicara was willing to put that to the test.__Practice started with lifting the ink from the bottle. It was a struggle—something that took her time to control..._

_While below the other lords had their abilities, Bicara had nothing. She would not stand among them as talentless. By the time Virtra's shuttle had arrived, Bicara found she could easily hold the blue ink into the air without fear of it falling—an event that would destroy her plans. _

_The next step was manipulating the ink. She had to form it and make it bend to her will. __Bicara began by making it form into dozens of tiny spheres, rotating them around her... almost dropping several on numerous occasions, but miraculously she did not. In the hours that passed—it became easier to do. Bicara then formed it into a long, snaking stream... a thin blue viper that slithered around her, twisting and coiling but never touching her skin... close by millimeters but never touching. _

_She was ready. __The viper sprouted two heads—each striking one of her wrists. As their fangs, filled not with venom but with ink, struck... her arms and muscles contracted the tendons vibrating and constricting as she fought the pain. It was strength... HER strength... and for it she would endure. The vipers injected themselves into her blood, and with the newfound Force, Bicara stained the etchings of her veins into the skin of her arms, searing it with the living energy to make the brands, her tattoos, permanent. _

_The new Sith's muscles seized with the pain, her fingers going rigid and every vein bulging as they were brutally stained. The blue serpent-like markings spread up her arms—to her neck, stopping just below her chin and barely coming around her ears to peak at her forehead. The "venom" worked it's way down her legs in a wider pattern... only the major arteries and veins—stopping to wrap around her ankles just as it had done her wrists._

_...and the vipers were spent. __Bicara collapsed to the floor, heaving and gasping as the sudden pain subsided and rendered her breathless. She stood, looking into a mirror and what she saw was nothing of what she was. _

-- -- -- -- -- --

_"It... is finished..."_

The words snapped An'ya back into reality and consciousness. She was clinging to the basin again, her now vividly blue eyes wide with shock and horror—the Jedi master quickly looked to her flesh and she could see it: glowing blue lines that were slowly fading, just the specks in her eyes had.

_"Fascinating isn't it?"_

An'ya looked around for the voice, but she could see nothing. As she looked back to the mirror, the blue specks in her eyes seemed to pulse with excitement. In these glowing points of light, the Jedi Master could see the reflection of something all too familiar. Her body ached even more—An'ya felt every ounce of pain that was on Bicara's face in that vision. She could smell the ink as it burned its way into her flesh—Bicara's flesh.

_"It was more painful than that… I can assure you. Time tends to replace old pain with new pain—I don't know why I remembered it now of all times_._"_

When realization hit the Jedi master, of what she was actually hearing—and that it was inside of her own head, An'ya suddenly found herself very awake and very afraid. "How—"

_"I have no idea—well that's not true, I know what you are thinking just as you can hear what I'm thinking—it's very odd..."_

"Shut up!" An'ya shouted, placing both hands to her head as if that would somehow make the Sith Lord inside her head be silent. "What did you do?!"

_"I didn't do anything—which is the fascinating part of all this."_

"Then—"

_"I told you: we were both leaving Zeltros—one way or another. I personally thought it was going to be death, but it would seem the Force has a different fate planned for us."_

An'ya scoffed, "It sounds just like any other Sith trick! A perversion of the Force itself and you use destiny or fate as an excuse for your atrocities."

"_Yet… here we are, when we should both be dead."_

The Jedi master shook her head, her white hair flailing around. She wasn't going to hear this—she _wouldn't_ hear this. The cruise transport was mere hours away from Coruscant. She would brief the Council about what has happened, and, while she was loathe to placing her fate in the hands of those children…

"_You and I are more similar than I thought—"_ Bicara's voice chimed into her reverie, but An'ya was having no more of it. Summoning the Force, she cleared her mind of any thoughts. From what she knew at this point in time: Bicara could only hear the thoughts she was willing to speak and vice-versa. An'ya felt it was very simple—she would not think about anything until she was back on Coruscant. Silence was golden after all…

There was a small taunting laugh in the back of her mind, _"Good luck with that."_

-- -- -- -- -- --

Sylir was at a loss. He and Cai were seated at a small metallic table in the courtyard of an outdoors rustic café. The restaurant was themed after a setting from several eras passed, but the ambiance was liked by many denizens galaxy-wide—plus it was affordable. The setting also offered them a chance to plan their next move, although Sylir knew he couldn't stay in one place for too long. The Jedi Master changed a sideways look at his companion, but the Nautolan was busy looking at the pedestrians that milled about in the street, going from shop to shop.

Cai was a strange entity. Not many Nautolans ventured beyond their home planet and even fewer had the cerulean blue skin that she possessed, and that wasn't even the strangest thing. What was truly odd about the trader came from the way she held herself: she didn't act as though her profession was legitimate; rather she was all too good at avoiding unwanted people. To add irony to complexity, Sylir had also noticed that the adornment beads for her head-tresses were not the standard form…

As a padawan, the Cathar Jedi had studied all the major races, including the Nautolan race, and for the most part the people of the Nautolan society adorned their heads with pieces of leather or metal. Cai was a different entity. She had thin bands of string which attached these ornate silver beads to her head-tresses, and those beads fell in between each individual tentacle in a fashion that gave her more of a regal appearance. Such a thoughi, in and of itself, was ludicrous because the Nautolan society did not have royalty.

Shaking his head slightly in an attempt to realign his thoughts, Sylir inadvertently managed to draw Cai's attention. "Is everything alright?" she asked curiously.

There was a hopeful expression to her face, and the Jedi master didn't quite know what she was looking for. As he dipped into the Force to see if it offered any enlightenment—Sylir was hit an extremely powerful wave of empathy. Cai wasn't pitying him, rather she was feeling the same thing that he felt. Whether it was because she knew his pain, or that she was sad he had to hide it, the Jedi master decided he wasn't quite ready to ask himself those questions. It was never his intention to hurt anyone, but Sylir wasn't ready to deal with the emotions inside his own head—which meant he definitely couldn't help with another person's.

"I'm just wondering where we go from here. I feel as if I'm just waiting around to be caught in another trap, and I doubt the next one will be as easy to get out of."

"Ha!" Cai burst out, and immediately looked apologetic, "Sorry, it's just that—well—the last one wasn't necessarily easy to get out of."

"Thank you," Sylir was definitely sarcastic, "For pointing that out. I was just wondering why they hadn't tried harder to kill me."

"You're pretty touchy for a Jedi."

Sylir snarled, "I'm pretty much an all around failure then, aren't I?"

The Nautolan's blue skin flushed; she was obviously hurt by the tone in his words—and ashamed that she'd unintentionally brought the conversation around to this. It wasn't even her fault, which Sylir realized, ashamed of himself for lashing out at the only person who hadn't tried to kill him on this trip. He was opening his mouth to apologize… when a suddenly loud chime from the holo-projector behind him drew the attention of all the people sitting at the outside café.

"_**This just in!"**_ a female Coruscanti reporter stood before the viewers; her blue image smiled as she read from a teleprompter. _**"A recent release from the offices of Chancellor Evreux: Darth Bicara is now deceased! The last insurgent leader from the Sith faction established fifteen years ago was cut down yesterday while resisting arrest. This victory unfortunately comes with a price, as no word has been received from the Jedi Master responsible for her case."**_ There was a murmur of excited whispers from all gathered; several citizens had come in from their walking to view the newscast—while others were huddled around other holo-communication devices up and down the street.

"_**In other news…"**_

Sylir found that he didn't want to pay attention to the report. He'd already felt the disturbance in the Force that resonated around his former master—the fact that it was being publicly broadcast placed a foul taste in his mouth. He felt as if he were being forced to eat ash; the fact that Jedi business was being made a public declaration made him sick. A cool hand set itself on top of his. Sylir could feel the touch on each and every strand of his fur; it excited and calmed him at the same time. Sylir looked up and noticed that Cai was watching the Holonet with as much discretion as possible. She didn't want to offend him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

Cai turned, her head-tresses falling over one shoulder. Her large onyx eyes showed that she understood—even if she couldn't help. The blue-skinned alien looked as if she wanted to say something, perhaps she had a thought that could help Sylir muddle through the mess that was in his own mind. It was interrupted however by a shrill exclamation from the Holonet reporter.

"_**Coming to you live now, from the outer chamber of the Senate Rotunda!"**_

The projection blurred for a moment and Sylir focused on what he was actually seeing—and the image shocked him. It was Dain! The Grand Master of the Jedi was actually speaking to a large group of reporters. This was definitely a new occurrence; thus far the Jedi had managed to keep out of the spotlight. The gathered crowd watched the holo-scene with great interest.

"_**Jedi Cross!" a female reporter exclaimed, "Are the reports true?"**_

_**Dain nodded, "Yes, the Jedi Council just made the release to the Chancellor a few hours ago. It is my knowledge that the Senate voted to allow this information to be made public."**_

"_**What does this mean for Darth Vader and the Imperial Remnant?" another reporter, a male Sullustan shot to the Jedi master.**_

"_**We have no knowledge of the Imperial Remnant's movement. At this time, the Jedi have not been asked by the Senate to intervene… and I'm certain that their patrols are doing an effective job."**_

He was dodging the issue. Sylir could tell just by the way Dain was speaking. The Council had often debated on what sort of action should be made against Vader. The Chancellor's office had urged them, for the public image, not to go off on their own in this matter. Sylir and several others had different opinions. Seven years ago they could have hunted Vader and his forces down, removed the threat and slept soundly. Now it was too late to do that. Any attempt to bring Vader down, at this point, would undoubtedly cost lives and resources that could have been avoided. Who knew what Palpatine's lap dog was doing at this exact moment?

_**A female Rodian with way too much make-up and large head fronds came into focus. "Jedi Master Cross, what is the Senate doing to help relieve the war torn worlds in the Outer Rim?"**_

_**Dain sighed, "I know that I have several Jedi joining supply convoys every week. The Republic has dozens of reconstruction efforts underway, and the Jedi are helping to aid the sick and wounded wherever we can… the only problem is that it takes time. There aren't enough of us."**_

"_**Is that why nothing has been done about the rash of violent outbreaks on Abregado-rae?" A male Coruscanti approached the front of the pack.**_

"_**Not at all," the Jedi master looked as if he were ready to throw his hands up and walk away, "I was just approached with a request by Jedi Master Sylir who is present on Abregado-rae. He's attempted to help maintain the order, but it's difficult. I've sent a special Jedi team to assist him in his efforts. Jedi Knight Pella Tarsus and her padawan should be there within the day and hopefully, with the help of Abregado's Central Security, the situation will calm down."**_

"That's great!" Cai exclaimed, turning from the newscast to see a very horrified Cathar, "Isn't it?"

"It would be if I had made such a request…" the Jedi was on his feet at once, "We have to make a transmission! We have to—"

"Whoa! Kill the thrusters, Jedi…" Cai hissed, pulling him back into his seat.

"We have to do something! I can't bring other Jedi into this if they aren't prepared!"

The Nautolan clenched both hands into fists on top of the table. She knew the Jedi wasn't thinking clearly; Cai could tell just from the hurried exasperation that Sylir's immediate thoughts were that he could be responsible for another death. "Look…" she pleaded, "Will you just take a second to look at this? Perhaps this is just what these hunters want you to do. You make a communication, and if they are monitoring anything going to Coruscant—they are going to find you."

Sylir slumped dejectedly in his seat, "And we don't have secure communication device."

"No…" she sighed, "Unfortunately when I went to run my errand I didn't think I'd be pulled into a mass conspiracy… or whatever this is. I have my short range communicator, but without any access to the Trade District—there isn't much I can do. My crew has probably been ousted from the Trader's Guild hangar, so even if I could contact them, I don't have a ship or communication equipment available at the moment."

"Then… what do we do?" Sylir felt as if he were just waiting for the finale—the time when the hunters would find him and that would be the end. It shouldn't be like this for a member of the Council. He was supposed to be one of the best Jedi; it was the Council's job to make sure things like this were taken care of… yet here he was, sitting at a café and wondering what he was supposed to do.

"I'm sure the Jedi Team has already booked a hangar," Cai said thoughtfully.

Sylir's face lit up for a moment, "We find the hangar and we can scope it out—we can warn Pella before it's too late!"

Cai nodded, a look of chagrin taking over her features, "Hopefully your _new_ friends won't have the same idea."

-- -- -- -- -- --

Depa Bilaba stood inside the peaceful gardens of the Hotel Bellus Flotte. Since Palpatine had destroyed the Jedi Temple very few of the current Jedi had supported returning to it; rather they had looked for another place to live on Coruscant. Many had supported buying a new facility; Dain and his brother had suggested building a new temple, while Depa and a few others had been of a more practical mind. Bellus Flotte was a beautiful hotel, and it catered to every major species in the galaxy, which meant they could cater for the Jedi. The best part of the situation lay in the fact that Bellus Flotte was in danger of going under.

Being one of the older and more expensive hotels, more and more visitors to Coruscant were opting for newer and cheaper places to stay; thus the Jedi had moved in and signed a five year renewable contract in which the hotel would serve as their residence. The owner of Bellus Flotte were content with the sum of their contract; the hotel staff had a permanent family which they could share the facility with; and the Jedi had a less ostentatious location in which to live.

In the years that passed, it slowly became customary to call Bellus Flotte: the Jedi Temple. They had already renewed their contract with the owner twice, and when the old man passed on… it came to no surprise that he left the hotel to the Jedi Order with only one condition: it must remain their home on Coruscant. They had increased the security and made it more adaptable to their living throughout the years; no one had any problem with this stipulation.

Depa liked it here. She felt more at peace here than she ever had in her years at the Jedi Temple, and this place didn't hold memories from before—the Jedi Master was haunted enough by those memories with external aides. Depa had once been a member of the Original Jedi Council, before Order 66… before the end of the Clone Wars. She could still remember that fateful mission to Haruun Kal, and she still regretted her decisions there. It brought a cold smile to her face—her life these days seemed filled with regrets and mistakes. What had she done to redeem herself?

Not a day went by that Depa didn't wonder how she had survived Order 66. She had been told that while in a coma she had been under the watch of Shaak Ti and others in the Jedi Temple. Perhaps Master Ti had gotten her out? It would have been nice to ask that question, but Depa had awoken from her coma on the desert world of Ryloth, the homeworld of the Twi'lek race. No one knew how Depa had gotten there, just that a mysterious and cloaked stranger had landed and brought her to a family—and paid handsomely for her to be cared for.

Four years passed on Ryloth before she awoke, it must have been some amount of money for the Twi'lek family to continue their care for so long. Depa awoke to darkness. Her eyes had never recovered from their damage on Haruun Kal, and she refused to take surgery. Jedi did not need their eyes, and this was part of the penance for her crimes, even though it was a small price of what Depa felt she needed to pay. All of her friends and family had been killed, the Jedi temple destroyed… Depa felt more than alone in the galaxy—she felt abandoned. It had taken several months to regain her strength, to commune with the Force and once again see the light which she had abandoned.

And for some reason the Force spoke to her…

It had led her to a remote planet in the Outer Rim… a rather desolate and deadly planet just by nature, but it was on this planet where she found hope: Anoat. Underneath the death and toxicity, the barren landscape held a small enclave of Jedi led by none other than Master Yoda. Depa was overjoyed to have found them, though she did expect to be placed under arrest once more. Her expectations were shaken; however, when out of nowhere a tired and beleaguered looking Master Kenobi scooped her up into a hug.

Depa's bandaged eyes had been soaked with tears at that moment as she cried happily—and as she remembered it here in the garden, the white, silken blindfold that covered her scarred face grew damp once again. The blindfolds worn by the Jedi Master helped to accentuate her appearance before the public, and it kept people from staring at the horrors of her past… they also hid her disgrace. While on Haruun Kal, Depa had lost her Mark of Greater Illumination; such a humiliation was an unspeakable offense to the Chalactan people; and, as such, Depa could never return home. But Master Bilaba no longer viewed Chalacta, or any planet for that matter, as her home. She was home when among the Jedi. Upon seeing Master Yoda's smiling face through the Force for that first time; Depa knew where she always wanted to be.

Depa sighed, turning sightless eyes upon the small silver cube that she continually spun in her hands. She knew every contour, every etching, and every imperfection by memory—the Jedi sometimes wondered if she would wear the small device smooth with her constant feeling; it hadn't happened yet. "Obi-wan…" she whispered to the winds of the Force, "What should I do?"

"That doesn't work you know…" a male voice spoke from behind her.

Depa had no need to spin around; she wouldn't see the world any differently, and she had already seen who was coming. Depa had long gotten used to sensing the world through the Force. Each and every object was vibrant, the colors flowing together like small rivers of light—the world looked like moving water. It flowed around her, through her, and connected her to the universe around her. The Jedi master had heard from other Jedi in her time that each individual experienced the Force in a different manner. It was ironic; for Depa, the most beautiful feeling she could imagine mirrored her feeling of drowning. The Force was a complex entity; in her life Depa had barely managed to grasp the surface of its depths, but it was wondrous to her each and every time she looked through its eyes.

"Dain…" the Jedi master whispered quietly, "To what are you referring?"

"Why is it that every time we speak—I'm always Dain, and you are Master Bilaba?"

The Chalactan Jedi shrugged, "Because you are less than half my age and you insisted upon calling me that for ten years—don't think I missed you changing the subject."

"It was just me thinking out loud, Master Bilaba."

Depa smiled knowingly and nodded. She went to sit down in the grass and motioned elegantly to the area beside her. As he took a seat, Depa could see the Force swirl restlessly around the Grand Master. Dain was a good Jedi, but he was young—too young to have the weight of the world thrust upon him. She remembered one time, long ago, when her master, Mace Windu, had told her that the job of senior council member appeared too much for him. Mace had been a good twenty years older than Dain, easily.

"Something's troubling you, Dain… what is it?" Depa pushed, turning her bandaged visage to look at him.

The Grand Master turned away from the older Jedi. He knew all too well that she could see things in people that others could not—hell! She had been blessed by the Force late in her years with a bizarre form of insight. Dain didn't know why Depa Bilaba had turned to the darkside during the Clone Wars, but the Jedi Master here before him was an incredibly gifted, if not frightening woman. "It's just… everything," he breathed, finally, happy to relax. "The Jedi are back, the Republic is back… but it seems like we still have nothing but trouble. We have the public to approve of us, the Senate to hound us, and Vader still is out there somewhere—" Dain let his voice trail off… there was just so much.

"Even a small stone makes ripples in water," Depa said quietly, "So you haven't had a major victory to appease the masses—the point is that the individual sees you trying. With each person we help, each life we make better, someone will remember us for something great in their eyes. Public opinion is overrated… and politicians—well they come and go."

"If only it were that easy…"

Depa felt his irritation now; she could see it rippling around the man beside her like a deep, burgundy fog. He was upset about something else.

"So you missed the Council Meeting yesterday…"

And there it was… Depa had been wondering how long it would take him to get to that subject. Just as she had suspected, the long silence had urged him to just come out and say it—that was how she liked to handle problems. "Yes," the Chalactan nodded, looking off at nowhere in particular. "I had other things on my mind… and yesterday's memorial made me come to face with certain truths."

Dain raised an eyebrow, "Such as?"

"Such as—I believe you need to take a look at this…" she handed him the small silver cube that had been covered by the long sleeves of her dark brown robes.

The Grand Master took one look at it and then looked back at Depa, "A holocron? Who's?"

"Master Kenobi's…"

The Force around Dain vibrated bright red, fell to a dull blue and finally returned to normal. Depa couldn't blame him for being angry—she had keep this a secret from everyone after all, but something in the Force had told her that this was the proper course to take. Had she been selfish? Undeniably so, but perhaps it would now work out for the best.

"How long have you had this?"

"Since before he left for Togoria," Depa answered, "He asked me to keep it safe… I did, I just failed to keep him safe."

Dain sighed, "For the last time… Master Kenobi's death was not your fault!" His words were unnecessarily loud; anger was definitely in there somewhere.

"I won't argue with you, but I know it was my guard that was let down—it was one of my targets that killed him. I have to take some of the blame," Depa waved the matter aside. Most days this topic would cause her to shed tears, but something had changed and she felt that she was finally at grips with the circumstances, "It doesn't matter… the dead are dead; we push on for the living. Now take a look at that please."

Nodding with impatience, Dain focused his feelings on the holocron, and soon he became absorbed in it. The entire ritual only took him a few minutes—far easier than Depa had found it, and this was why Dain had been made a Master… he was a natural. With a dazzling sparkle of pure light, the miniature form of Master Obi-wan Kenobi sprung into existence; the small cube projected a constant and brilliant sapphire glow. "Ah! Dain… how are you?" the auburn-grey haired Jedi smiled up at him.

Dain turned to look at the Chalactan beside him, "A sentient holocron?"

Depa nodded, "He must have been working on it for years… before Master Yoda managed to get him to Degobah."

Marveling at the tiny device in his hands, Dain turned the holocron in his hands. The tiny blue image resembled their old master perfectly—from his facial expression to his image, even his attitude was that of the late Master Kenobi. "It's incredible… I've only ever read of these holocron types. Supposedly they were favored by Jedi in the Old Republic, but in later years—especially those leading up to the Clone Wars—it was easier to use a holocron as a recording device, like a journal."

"Obi-wan was never one to do things the easy way," Depa murmured. After all… he had taken on Anakin Skywalker as a padawan; that feat was not an easy one at all, what with the boy being the Chosen One. Then having to live with the fall of the Jedi Order, the death of his best friend… no, Obi-wan had never been a man to take the easy way out of anything. He'd still been fighting for the Republic… even till his death.

"Hello?" Obi-wan waved a hand, "I am still here you know?"

"Of course, Master Kenobi!" Dain instantly turned the holocron back around so that he was looking the image of the Jedi master in the face.

Once the Jedi master had been righted, his holographic gaze was able to take in both Jedi Masters. Obi-wan gave a slight nod and cleared his throat, "Ah, yes… about me making this holocron—I did so not because it was a pastime, but because I needed there to be a record of something; incase anything ever happened to me, which must have. Depa was never to show this to anyone but herself otherwise."

"Which she didn't do until nearly eleven years after your death…" Dain was getting irritated again, "You died on Togoria only months before we brought down Palpatine… it's been ten years since then and you only now let us know that Master Kenobi left behind all his memories?" The Grand Master was no longer speaking to the holocron, and his tone did not hold any invite for Depa to defend herself.

The entire situation was so frustrating! Here he'd been wandering blind, having no idea how to run the Jedi—what the council was supposed to truly be like. An'ya Kuro had abandoned the Order for some idealistic quest, and Depa was depressed and moody half the time, while the other half she didn't speak at all. She claimed it was better if the Order developed without any of her input; the Jedi Master from the old Order was insecure and useless!

"Dain!" Obi-wan's voice broke the hypnotic tension that had filled the air. The tiny azure image had a stern look of righteous anger on his features, "Master Bilaba only did what I asked her to do!"

The elder Cross brother looked away guiltily as he was chastised, feeling like a padawan again—not that his time as a padawan was ever when he was young. Fifteen years as a Jedi, the time felt so much longer. Dain and Kyle had been approached by Master Yoda on their father's farm; they'd spent their entire lives in obscurity on Telos. He could still remember the excitement he felt, as if starting a great new adventure, when he'd been on that ship to Degobah… barely sixteen years old. Now he was thirty-one and he felt like a little kid who had been mouthing off to his father and then gotten punished; only he hadn't been punished. His pettiness had been pointed out; as a Jedi, Dain should be above such things. "Apologies Master Kenobi…"

The Obi-wan image pursed its lips and then coughed, "Just one of the many things a Jedi constantly works on… As I was saying, Master Bilaba was asked to treat this matter with her own discretion. I trust her judgment and if she has chosen now as the time to reveal this holocron's existence, then it must be the proper time."

The Grand Master raised an eyebrow, "Care to elaborate?"

"I made this holocron to contain and protect a very important secret. It was protected by both Master Yoda and myself, and while I do not know if Master Yoda put anything in place to guard this secret… I do know that the Force was urging me to do so."

When Obi-wan's image did not speak again, Dain interpreted that it must be finished speaking. Perhaps it had a bit too much of Master Kenobi's personality and was prone to bouts of slipping off on other tracks of thought… "And?" Dain urged.

"And what?"

"What is this secret? What is so important that both you and Master Yoda couldn't tell anyone? Why make a holocron rather than tell a living person?"

"I can't tell you, Dain…" Obi-wan's answer was perfectly normal, almost like it were a part of polite conversation rather than denying to release what might be a most vital piece of information that the Jedi Order might need. The Grand Master looked sideways at Depa.

She shrugged, "He says the same thing to me." Depa had tried to find out on numerous occasions in the past, and every time Obi-wan politely declined. She believed it was something Kenobi had programmed into the holocron: a safety protocol perhaps? The only thing that was certain, and the Chalactan Jedi Master had heard it quite often, was that the holocron would only release the information to…

"The person most capable of protecting and handling the secret," Obi-wan's image was answering Dain's query just like it had answered Depa's in the past.

She watched as the Force rippled angrily around Master Cross, crimson red rings pulsing around him; then they vanished and were replaced by the slow beats of cold resignation. The holocron was not going give up the information, and Dain was apparently feeling defeated—by something else, and this incident just compounded those feelings. Depa felt sorry for Dain, but she still had to stop him when he turned to leave.

"I'm afraid that the holocron has to stay with me for the moment…"

He looked as if he wanted to protest, but something, in the way Depa held out her hand for the item, told Dain that it wasn't up for negotiation. The holocron had been given to Master Bilaba after all… and apparently she wasn't quite ready to let go. It was slightly comforting to know that someone, who had been a Jedi as long as Depa Bilaba, still had problems with all the tenets of being a Jedi. Dain handed the holocron back to the Chalactan Jedi and bowed with a cordial smile—that was as much as his current mood would allow.

Holding the holocron in both hands, Depa watched as Dain exited the gardens… almost instantly she could feel the soft, warm light of tranquility returning to things. It was a white glow that soon ran through every molecule of her body; Depa breathed in deeply through her nose, smelling the wonderful scents of rose and lavender… the wet mist from the hidden irrigation system as it mingled with the tropical plants… a harmonious symphony played in the waters of the force. "He's not the one?" Depa hummed softly.

"No…" Obi-wan answered softly, "He still has much to learn…"

-- -- -- -- -- --


	8. Of Schedules and Arrivals

**Whew! This has been a long week!**

But never fear, faithful readers, you will get your chapter. I have not missed an update... nor will I! First things first I would like to point your attentions to something that you may not know: I run an update log in my profile for this story. Each entry is dated and I post about one or two entries a week. It lets you know what is going on with the story currently, how I'm fairing with the later chapters... blah blah blah. If you are interested--go and take a look. Of even better notice: I have finished chapter 18 today, which means that I remain with my staying ten chapters ahead of you goal. It was a hard chapter, but things are picking up for me. (**potential spoiler warning ahead if you haven't read the last chapter**)

I have just finished editing this chapter and I must say... it's very different in tone from the rest of the story. I toy with a lot of the Jedi relationships in this chapter. How each of the Jedi relate to one another, how are their relationships affected by the others... it was fun to pull this out and I think you see a large portion of characterization conflicts. You're going to see things that will consistently come up for each character, along with a great deal of foreshadowing. I like this chapter, but at the same time... I remember how difficult it was to write. There is no action, I do apologize. The high point of this is that you get a vague glimmer of some romance (if that is what any of you are looking for). It's not a good Star Wars tale if there isn't some hint of love in the air. I don't know if I'm going to allow the characters a happy time yet, but the foundation of possibility is laid out in this chapter. I don't introduce any new characters, but you get to have a better look at Dain (if anyone is looking at him). Dain is a very complicated fellow. He's had the weight of responibility placed on his shoulders at a young age, and he's doing what he believes is his best. Whether he's doing a good job is up to the reader to decide. :**Spoiler**: Last time I introduced a major issue for the story: An'ya and Bicara are now sharing the same mind. :**Spoiler**: What does that hold for our characters? Well... perhaps you had better read and find out.

As always thank you to my reviewers, and if you leave me a review you will get personalized author's notes about anything you comment upon. Some of these notes will be things never seen by any other reader, while others you will get to see possibly weeks before the other readers (I never know what I'm going to write in here). This is my way of saying thank you for your time. Ask my other reviewers... I always send my notes to them. Some readers who may tell you good things about my story: VeralicProducions, realfanficts, and PollyWantCookie. (Love you guys! All of your reviews have been really helpful!)

And that is all for this chapter! Enjoy,  
**_~Sarai~_**

* * *

"The Jedi shuttle is scheduled to land at the Northern Security platform, 14:00 tomorrow afternoon," Cai said as she took a seat next to Sylir on the rest bench. The Nautolan handed him a steaming cup of cáff which she had picked up on way back. The roadside cart salesman had claimed it to be the best in the city. While she highly doubted this, Cai hoped that it would be enough to make the Cathar snap out of this mood. Sylir took the cup from her without even looking, his empty gaze still staring off into nothing—or perhaps he was counting the cracks in the wall across the courtyard; Cai had no way of knowing.

"You are certain this information is sound?" the Jedi's voice was so detached that someone could have thought he was questioning himself rather than her.

She was getting used to being around him, even though she didn't like how his slip into depression was going. Cai took a sip of her own drink, hoping to encourage her companion into doing the same, before she spoke. "Holonet news, passed along rumors… political campaign speeches—that kind of information you can question," Cai chuckled to herself, "But information brokers make a living out of being correct, and they don't stay in the business for long if they aren't."

Nodding absentmindedly, the Jedi master just kept looking off down the way—apparently content with whatever he was looking at. They sat in silence for a long while; she calmly drinking her cáff while he remained in a trance. Cai chuckled again and finished off her drink, getting up to toss the flimsy cup into a disposal unit near the bench. As she made her way back to the bench, the Nautolan watched the Jedi finally take a sip of his drink. It was interesting to watch the change that came over his face. At the first sip, Sylir was still looking completely morbid, but as he finished swallowing and brought the cup to his lips again—his eyes widened with a sense of understanding. His posture relaxed and the Jedi closed his eyes, savoring the next sip.

"This is good…" he hummed, finally looking at Cai as she sat back down.

"Best in the city."

The Cathar mulled over this for second before nodding in agreement, "So… an information broker, huh?"

"Yep… and old friend had contact with him. The information is reliable. I promise."

With a deep yawn that revealed his perfectly white fangs, Sylir stretched and threw the cup towards the disposal. It had to be the Force, because nothing else could have thrown a wind resistant item that far and hit a target no bigger than a Sullustan's head. "Then in the morning we'll get up and go survey the area. It's possible that the hunters will be waiting for us there."

"What a great idea," Cai groaned, "Lets go and shake their hands while we're at it."

"We need to know what we're up against. If we can observe from the outside, knowing that they are looking for me and that they could be setting up a trap—we might be able to get the jump on them," Sylir yawned again, "Though they may not try anything at a Security Station."

"Come on," Cai said, pulling the Jedi up from the bench and wrapping an arm around his waist, "You haven't gotten any rest and I don't think your small coma counts."

Sylir actually laughed, "I don't think that counts as a coma."

"Did you see yourself lying there? No one sleeps through that parade of Gamorreans that came stomping through the hallway… I say coma. It's a safe bet."

"You don't say?" Sylir murmured.

"Oh yeah, definite coma… which is why we're going to stay in a nicer place tonight—you're paying of course."

Cai heard Sylir chuckle… but it was off kilter, and it quickly became a slow purr. The Nautolan turned her large black eyes to see the Cathar's head upon her shoulder and his eyes closed. "Passed out again…" she muttered, "Why am I always carrying your ass?" The Jedi's witty reply this time was to let out a soft snort that sounded vaguely catlike in its sound.

"You're still paying…" she chuckled and was thankful to the Jedi's Force that he was still somewhat walking. She had no desire to lug him around Abregado to find decent lodging.

-- -- -- -- -- --

A maid tore through the halls of the Hotel Bellus Flotte as fast as her dainty legs could carry her. The most important thing in her world had been dust up until this point: dust the items, vacuum the dust, sweep the dust… wait until the dust returned and then repeat. Her days and nights were filled with grey, tiny particles that never stayed gone for long enough. Life was simple and she never complained. The Jedi were kind guests, though now they were like family. She'd been working here for years; her children had grown up here… they'd moved on, and her grandchildren now visited Bellus Flotte.

Unfortunately her life had gotten so much more complicated tonight. As she stormed up the steps, the elderly maid's mind was rushing through a dozen thoughts. One of the Masters had to be notified… that's all she had to do. Once they knew about this—well they would take care of it. The Jedi were all about handling their problems.

Still that was what made this so complicated: which Jedi did you wake in the wee hours of the night?

Flying from the stairwell and into the wing where the Jedi council slept… a thought struck the poor maid which could have saved her from wheezing and gasping for breath: she could have taken the turbolift—but then she would have cut the travel time down by half, which would have left her without any idea of what to do. Of course she still had no idea, but she'd ruled out several possibilities.

Master Dain was too tired from the previous day's activities and he wouldn't want to be wakened to deal with this. His brother, Master Kyle… well they made the saying, _let sleeping dragons lie,_ for a reason. Master Maris was absent from the temple, apparently the local authorities had called for Jedi help—she hadn't returned yet. That left Master Zallar and Master Depa… The maid chose hastily and knocked on the door.

No answer.

She really didn't want to wake the Wookiee Jedi. While he had always been polite, the maid fervently hoped that he wouldn't kill her every time she walked past his towering form. The Wookiee race was known for having a temper, and while her thoughts were bigoted… she felt they were founded in solid circumstances. Shaking with nervousness, the maid knocked again.

"For the name of all that is sacred…" a soft voice answered, "I'm coming…"

There was a soft rustle behind the door just before it effortlessly swished open. "It's the middle of the night; you can't just expect me to move like the Coruscant Transit System for the door…" Depa Bilaba's face answered and the maid instantly wished she gone for the Wookiee. The Jedi master's scarred eyes were ghostly white and the skin all around them was pale and deformed looking… it was no wonder she always wore the blindfold.

"I—I," the maid stammered.

"By the Force! Forgive me," Depa absently grabbed a piece of cloth from the inside of her robes and tied it around her eyes. "I forgot I wasn't wearing it… most of the time it is another Jedi at these hours."

"It's happened!!" the maid squealed softly, her nerves finally getting to her.

Depa was still reeling from being roused from such a deep meditation, "Pardon?" The better answer would have been to look to the Force, but Depa felt that since the maid had come all this way—it would have been better to humor the situation.

"You told us, well the Order that is—told the staff… if ever return, she did… we was to notify one of you immediately! Well… she's here!!" The maid finally freaked and fled from the open doorway. She didn't mean to be rude, but the Jedi constantly frightened her as much as they amazed her with their kindness—she didn't feel at all bad about either; after all, it only took one second for someone to get mad. With the magic the Jedi possessed—who wanted to see them angry?

Still, Depa was left with confusion and frustration as her companions; therefore, she turned to the Force for answers—it wasn't something she was expecting to see.

-- -- -- -- -- --

Kyle Cross came bursting into the Council Chambers, tying the strings to his tunic pants as he rushed in. That was pretty much all he was wearing… he didn't wake easily, and he was undoubtedly in a hurry to get here; thus he didn't really bother with the necessities for standard Council Meetings, not that this was anywhere near standard. "Is it true?" he asked hastily, taking a seat and not even bothering if it was his.

Maris had returned and she was the only one in the full Jedi garb—apparently she had summed up her business with Coruscant Security in record time. She had been the second Jedi to make it to the Council Chamber. Jeta was also there, dressed in the simple tunic and pants that every Jedi wore under their outer robes, and she looked tired. Kyle was willing to bet that she had another vision; Jeta was not sleeping well these days.

"She is here…" Dain answered. He was dressed like Jedi, his Jedi garb at least completely covering his body, even if he hadn't bothered to complete the ensemble—why didn't they need to make appearances for one another anyway?

"Where?" Kyle asked excitedly.

"Master Bilaba is down in the kitchen with her," Jeta answered, closing her eyes and massaging the tension in her head between delicate fingers.

"Depa will bring her up once we are ready?" Dain finished, looked toward the pixie-like woman with concern.

"Well aren't we?" Kyle asked brashly, "We've only been waiting how long?"

"Ten years," Maris answered, "You could be patient a few minutes more. Master Kuro said she was hungry, and her journey was long. She deserves a chance to clean up and eat before faced with an inquisition. It's not like she just left for a vacation—she defied the orders of the Jedi Council and went out on a mission to willfully commit murder. Whether or not the deed was necessary is not what we are here to discuss."

There was a heavy sigh from Jeta, "Maris… do you have to bring this up now?"

"Jedi do not commit murder..." the black haired Zabrak said quietly, "It is an act of the darkside."

"An'ya Kuro has not fallen to the darkside," Jeta countered, an edge rising in her voice, "I would have seen something."

"You look as though you have," Maris countered, "Care to share?"

"Not until I have a clearer idea," Jeta smarted.

Kyle watched their verbal spar with great interest. He was not willing to jump between the two very deadly women; such an action wasn't a smart thing to do this late at night. Besides… he would admit, if only to himself, that they were definitely amusing in his sleep deprived stupor.

"Ladies, please…" Dain said with a low hint of a growl, "It is much too late and this matter is much too urgent for us to be bickering like new students." Maris and Jeta both exchanged one last glare before nodding and accepting silent apologies. The argument wasn't over, but at least they were willing to let it drop for the time being.

Kyle frowned, finally getting over his irritation at being woken and deciding it was time to get to work, "Where is Zallar?"

"He did not wish to wait with us here… he's downstairs in the kitchen," Dain muttered. Kyle could now understand why his brother was in such an irritable mood: not only had An'ya returned, but she'd done so at the most inconvenient hour, and Dain's best friend was currently "_eating with the enemy_" in a manner of speaking. It was pretty much the trifecta for anyone wanting to annoy the Grand Master—how funny that only one person in the galaxy could manage it. Kyle had been trying for years.

"Then why don't we call them up?" Kyle offered, "Surely they've had plenty of time… and they can have more time once we finish." Jeta and Maris both nodded their agreement.

"Very well…" Dain pressed the button for the intercom, connecting to the kitchen. He politely asked that the chef send the three Jedi up to the Council Chamber. All they had to do now was wait.

The Council members spent the remainder of the wait in silence. Kyle was restless; he'd wanted to know what had caused that disturbance in the Force. It promised to be a story worth retelling; however, no one seemed inclined to speak and he was not about to interrupt their musings. The younger Cross could practically see the thoughts bouncing around the room as each Jedi Master sat in quiet contemplation. For Kyle, the Force existed around people like sonic pulses. Each movement, each action, every thought left echoes in the Force that reverberated outwards in palpitations. From their frequency, the specific pitch, just how fast or slow they moved and the color of the pulse, he could see how a person was attuned to the world around them.

Jeta was currently surrounded in short, golden pulses that barely left her body. She was resting and Kyle could tell she was exhausted, but she was always a strong person. Jeta would manage to pull through somehow. Maris, on the other hand, was projecting like a beacon. Rapid red pulses and slow, dark blue streams were flowing constantly from her seated form—she was conflicted, and Kyle could only guess why. Maris was torn between sticking to what she knew was the Jedi Code, what was right; but she was also torn between her empathy with Master Kuro… Maris would have given anything to join in that quest, and she wondered if that made her a bad person… or if An'ya was a good person who had done a bad thing. Was there a middle ground?

Meanwhile Dain wasn't even emitting; he was trying not to think. "Good for him," Kyle thought. They probably wouldn't be very Jedi-like thoughts if he allowed himself to think at all… Kyle knew as well as anyone that An'ya Kuro and Dain Cross hadn't gotten along. Hell, Dain had even accused An'ya of wanting the Grand Master's seat once… which was of course absurd, but such accusations never dealt in the realm of normality or logic. An'ya Kuro could push Dain's buttons and she knew it—Dain insulted her intelligence and her experience by questioning the way she operated.

Kyle sighed audibly, "_And they call me childish_."

When the silence almost threatened to be unbearable, the door too the Council Chamber opened and Zallar walked in. Kyle sat up intently, studying the look on the Wookiee Master's face. Zallar had an odd pulse. It kept fluxing between excitement, happiness, and worry—what could possibly do that? Whatever it was; Zallar's Force signature was erratic and it refused to calm down.

"I must warn you ahead of time…" Zallar said as he took a seat, "Her appearance will..." the tall being took a moment to find the right words, "…take some getting used to."

"_Oh that's helpful…_" Kyle mused, "_So An'ya is all deformed and scarred? She's filthy? A little help here…_"

Zallar understood his thoughts in the Force, but the Wookiee did nothing but smile, watching the door expectantly as it opened. Master Bilaba entered next, and she was the perfect example of calm, completely stoic in her appearance and in the Force. Whatever An'ya had gone through, Depa Bilaba either was not affected or she had already come to terms with it… Kyle found this very interesting.

And then the door opened one last time. As An'ya Kuro stepped through the archway, there was an audible and collective feeling of shock. Each of the four Masters, who had been in the room, was caught off guard. Kyle didn't know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this. He could feel his jaw drop, and no matter how much he was wishing it would close—that wasn't happening. An'ya Kuro was… well she was… Kyle couldn't have put it in any more polite terms than An'ya herself.

"I know… I'm young."

-- -- -- -- -- --

The white haired Jedi Master smirked, her voice completely patronizing, "Now shut your mouths before they get stuck. It's not that big of a deal." Although An'ya would like nothing better than to render the entire Jedi Council speechless; she had to admit that this was very close to annoying. The slight burning pressure in the back of her mind conveyed that Bicara was finding the whole situation quite amusing.

"Forgive us," Dain said… first one to recover, "But… it's difficult to understand why you look this way. Is it some illusion effect from your battle—"

An'ya rolled her eyes and decided that now was the time to get everything out of the way and just dispel any possible apprehension, "No it's not an illusion, no I'm not wearing any kind of holographic camouflage or concealer… no I don't know how it happened, no I have never heard of this ever happening, no I don't have any theories, yes I'll answer all your questions… so long as they are not childish or asinine. Now, have I left anything out?" She looked to each one of the Jedi seated in the room. When none of them answered and they all looked speechless still—An'ya smirked again. Mission accomplished.

"I can also save some questions," Depa proffered, "I've had the ability to talk to Master Kuro and she seems to retain all of her memories past and present."

"Except for the few minutes I was unconscious," An'ya muttered.

"Perhaps that is a good place to start," Zallar offered, looking to the other Council members for their agreement. No one objected. "Could you perhaps describe the incident leading up to your unconsciousness… and you say this happened after you woke, correct?"

An'ya nodded, her manner professional, "That is correct. I tracked Darth Bicara to Zeltros. She had taken refuge in a small Chateau on the shores of the Northern Ocean. When I approached her, she attacked. The resulting fight led outdoors and up to the top of a cliff where I eventually had her disarmed. In a final attempt to kill me I was hit with some form of darkside attack… it packed more pressure than any Force push I have ever witnessed, and all she managed was to barely brush my face. I would hate to have seen what full contact may have done…"

"_Your corpse would have looked worse than mine_," Bicara's voice whispered with glee, "_I was trying to crush every bone in your body_."

An'ya paused as a vision flashed through her mind of what the attack should have looked like; Bicara's memories of using the same technique on other, less fortunate beings flickered across her mind, and An'ya had to admit: it would have been painful and ugly. Bicara's dark humor actually found the discomfort amusing, and the Sith lord let the Jedi Master know this.

An'ya fought the urge to physically shudder, but she must have been inside her own head for a while because one of the Jedi Masters cleared their throat. The noise snapped her out of whatever trance she may have been in. "Apologies… I was trying to collect my thoughts," An'ya took a deep breath, "The attack rendered me unconscious—I actually thought myself dead. When I woke…"

The words that came next were not entirely her own. Yes, she had thought about them over and over again, but… she had never once thought about voicing them, _"I awoke to find two men rifling through Bicara's corpse and what they believed to be mine. Posing as security officers, when I came to… one of them opened fire on me. I killed them. It was over in seconds…"_

Her voice was cold… detached. An'ya could tell because she was hearing it just as the other people in the room would be hearing it—she did not show remorse for her actions. Why should she? It was true, a Jedi should respect all life, but she didn't feel sorry for what she had done—not for Bicara, and not for the two unknown men she had killed. The sheer weight of that revelation sent a cold chill down her spine.

"_Someone had to get you to see the light…"_ Bicara's voice sneered.

"_You didn't have to shed the light to the entire council,"_ An'ya retorted to her unwanted voice.

Zallar was the first to speak, "So Darth Bicara is deceased?"

"Yes." An'ya did not even hesitate with her answer.

"_Is that what you call this?" _

"I saw her body with my own eyes. There was no way she could have survived. The lightsaber wound nicked her heart. Combined with the fall from the cliff and the waves beating her body against the rocks… Darth Bicara is deceased."

"_Wouldn't you like that to be the truth?" _The Sith's words were taunting, but An'ya could sense a feeling of dread coming from Bicara—what if she was truly dead? The Sith lord wasn't certain how to handle such a thought.

"I think the next important question," Dain spoke up, locking eyes with An'ya Kuro, "Is whether or not you still hold to the Jedi teachings?" The Grand Master's blue irises grew as he focused upon the prodigal Jedi before him. He could feel that it was the same woman… that was without at doubt, but something had changed. Perhaps it was just the ten years of being alone, hell! Ten years could change anyone, but Dain couldn't shake the feeling that something drastic had changed in Jedi Master An'ya Kuro, and it was not something small.

"What do you mean by that question?" An'ya replied.

"Do you still consider yourself a Jedi?"

She gave a curt nod, "I do. I acted against the will of the Council—it's not the first time such a thing has happened and I doubt it will be the last. As long as the Jedi have existed, there have been times when the Council cannot see the true course of action, the one that is required—they always second guess themselves. That is when it is required of a Jedi to do what must be done, as I have."

"Then you are not remorseful for your actions?" Dain countered.

"There is never a cause for remorse when someone has done the right thing," An'ya's voice was calm, but her glare was icy, "Many times those who choose the right path—walk alone."

"Murder is never the right path," Maris spoke softly.

"Nor is it the Jedi way…" Zallar added.

"Sometimes it is necessary," An'ya replied, "Sometimes it's not murder."

"Willfully taking a life will always be murder," Maris countered. It was not angry, in fact An'ya almost thought it was a question: how could killing not be murder—if it wasn't in self defense?

"Did I willfully kill Darth Bicara?" the white haired Jedi master questioned no one in particular. "Of course I did! I'm not so arrogant as to stand here and deny it, but had I not—you would have willingly let her run amok through the galaxy, as you have allowed Vader to do. I did what was necessary to save lives!"

"Yet you sacrificed everything we stand for!" Dain's voice matched her own in level.

"Please!" Jeta cried, finally speaking, "Must the first words you speak to one another be in anger?" Dain looked at her apologetically.

Jeta held up a hand to keep him from speaking again, "It is too late for us to think rationally. I suggest we all return to our quarters… happy in the knowledge that Master Kuro is alive and well—and with us once again. We should meditate on this bizarre occurrence, and we will reconvene tomorrow once all the daily tasks have been taken care of…"

"Perhaps before the evening meal?" Depa offered.

"I agree…" Zallar stood and bowed to the other members of the Council. With that motion everyone else seemed to feel their weariness. The Jedi Masters stood and said good night to one another, slowly beginning to file out of the Council Chambers.

Depa offered to share her quarters with An'ya for the night, which the white haired Jedi accepted. An'ya knew that it would take till morning before they could prepare a room for her; thus she was thankful for the offer. With a smile and a nod Depa departed, leaving An'ya alone with her thoughts…

"Was it fun?" a male voice asked her. So much for alone, had the voice not sounded so different—she would have wondered if she were hearing Bicara's voice again.

An'ya looked up to see that Kyle Cross had not left his seat, his long silver hair still messed from waking up too early. The younger Cross was smirking, his face unreadable. Who could tell what he really thought about anything? Kyle and Dain were like two sides of a very shiny coin—while they were both clean, one always had a shadow at some time. Most of the time Kyle was the darker of the two, possibly the more effective Jedi as well, but Dain had the image and that was what counted.

"Was what fun?" An'ya asked coyly.

"Taunting my brother…" Kyle offered for clarification.

"Annoying more like it," she frowned, "I forgot how self-righteous he was."

Kyle laughed, "He's only gotten better with time."

An'ya raised an eyebrow, "And what about you… what makes you stay behind?"

The man before her smirked, giving An'ya a roguish look. Kyle sat up from his relaxed position in the chair, placing his elbows on his knees and looking at An'ya intently, "I wanted to hear it from you—away from all the others." He breathed the question out so softly that An'ya almost missed it, "What was it like? How did it feel—to know that you were facing the last of the truly worthy opponents we have in the galaxy?"

"Jedi to not delight in confrontation," An'ya gave back the textbook answer.

"Please," Kyle scoffed, "Save it for my brother… you know what I'm talking about."

An'ya hesitated. This could all be a very clever ruse to cast guilt and suspicion upon her. She didn't think that Dain was so underhanded or that he would hate her this much, but one could never be too careful. Then again, this was Kyle she was thinking about. Even though Kyle had trained with Master Kenobi, the boy had constantly come to her for extra practice—he claimed she knew the real world. Perhaps An'ya did… back in the days of the Old Order, An'ya had always thought that the Jedi looked at the galaxy through rose-tinted goggles. The galaxy was a harsh, cruel and discourteous place—it had little use for the Jedi Code. An'ya had always taught her students how to be a Jedi who could survive and make it in the world around them—perhaps that made her weak? Or it frightened those who thought the Jedi should be peaceful rather than strong.

"_He's tempted_…" Bicara's voice was lustful, "_The fight has him_…"

"_Kyle has always been a warrior_," An'ya thought.

"_Then what's the harm in sharing?_"

Kyle was on his feet now, barely a meter standing between them, and his eyes were bright with excitement, "You faced Bicara… the person who was able to change the tides of entire battles because of her corruptive abilities. Surely you felt something while fighting her…"

An'ya had to look up at Kyle; he was several inches taller than she, and his blue eyes—almost metallic—shone with a longing to hear about her fight. It must have been hard for him; ten years without being able to fight. He'd been a Jedi born of war, and, unlike the others, he had taken to war like a Nautolan to water. Therefore times of peace, while good for most, would be particularly hard for him…

"I felt… fear," she said finally, locking her silver eyes upon his. Kyle's dark blue orbs widened with expectation at her words. "I questioned myself, my motives… as I walked into that dark house… I could feel my entire body begging me to flee. I didn't know anything, except that Bicara was dangerous, and when I saw her again—I knew it was going to be for the last time and I think that somehow… I embraced my death."

"And…" Kyle breathed, his words wafting quietly through the air like cigarette smoke, soft and mesmerizing.

"And I felt exhilaration," An'ya smiled, not even noticing as the space between them was barely a few inches, "I felt a thrill like never before… during the entire battle, no matter what happened or what I did—I knew I was free." Kyle's hand brushed her shoulder and jerked her back to a sudden realization and normality of senses: the experience was frightening.

An'ya took stepped backwards, putting space between them, and locked eyes with Kyle again, but her gaze was back to its calm detachment, "But that feeling is gone now." She gave a nodding bow and excused herself, "I'll see you after the sun begins to set."

-- -- -- -- -- --

When An'ya departed, Kyle was left alone with the most bizarre feeling, disoriented and perplexed; he was flummoxed for certain. Why had he acted in such a way, and towards one of his seniors? Yes, she certainly looked younger, but she was still far older than he… and she wasn't even the same person anymore. No matter how much you know someone, after being away from them for ten years—it was like starting over. But Kyle had never really known An'ya to begin with. Was there harm in starting over?

Going back to the chair which he had occupied, Kyle sat down and brought both hands to his face. Life had been so much easier during the war. He felt things that he had not allowed himself to feel in years, and only the Force knew why. Kyle was overwhelmed with a deep sense of helplessness. He was lost.

"Why Mara…" he whispered his silent woes, "Why did you have to leave me?"

-- -- -- -- -- --

"It's getting cool…"

Allara didn't even turn to look at the voice, "I don't feel the cold."

"Aye, I doubt you feel much of anything," an old man in a worn, brown leather, spacer's jacket leaned against the wall next to her.

"You could have shot the Jedi back on that roof, Brejec. Why didn't you?"

The old man ran a calloused, skin-cracked hand, over his grey military shaved scalp. The hair was just now beginning to grow back. He thought about her question for a moment, his eyes squinting and making large pools of wrinkles appear at their corners. "I dunno… I guess it could be the same answer as when I asked you why you killed the Jedi kid?"

"Rhiar still needed time to learn. She's good but she's not ready," Allara's answer was practical.

Brejec chuckled, "And I think that cat Jedi is good… he'll push the group to give their best, but he wasn't ready. If I had killed him, the others wouldn't be prepared."

Nodding thoughtfully, the leader of the Toran'ak finally turned her brown eyes to look at the old man, "Just so long as you aren't backing out on me."

This caused the elderly soldier to laugh, "Little darlin'—I'm too old to be looking for new employment and my kind don't get retirement. I told you when you started this—I'm in it till we finish, or I'm finished."

"Good…" she turned her gaze back to the night, "Is everything ready for tomorrow?"

"Yep." He made a soft clicking noise with his mouth, "I reckon that everything's in place. All we need is for your Jedi to make an appearance."

"He'll be there…" Allara muttered, "He'll be there…"

-- -- -- -- -- --


	9. Of Making Appearances

**Ok... so this is my first _late_ update for this story.**

Thankfully, it is only two days late. For all of my readers I apologize. It won't happen again. I'm making no excuses... just that I failed to get the chapter uploaded. It's a shame, considering that I had it finished. Truth be told... I waited until the last minute to do the editing, and then I forgot how long that process took. Shame is my new companion.

In better news, this is a shorter chapters, but things definitely pick up. Be prepared for all the delightful twists and turns that are in the future. Last chapter received more positive results than I was expecting. For my pathetic attempts at romance, you were all very kind. Unfortunately for the romance fans out there... I really don't touch on it again for awhile. I noticed at this point that I really needed to work on character development. Thus, you get so see something rather different. It's a thing I've come to call "active conversation". I try to make my conversations as active as possible. Yeah... I know... it sounded better before I tried to get clever. Anyhow... you'll see a mild pick up in the action as we get closer to chapter 12. That's probably my favorite scene that I have ever written, for the sheer fact that I want to see it filmed. If I die and it has never been put on screen. I will die a sad person.

The question for this chapter: I had an idea for making a help guide. Basically what this would be is a companion piece to go with my story. It would have pictures of alien species, characteristics of planets... if you didn't know something specific that is Star Wars related; then you go to this guide and see if you can find it. It was an idea of mine, and I wanted feedback. So feel free to give me your thoughts: if you think it's necessary, if you'd like something like that, if you would like it... what would you hope to find in it? I toy around with ideas like this... and sometimes I talk myself into them, or out of them, because I don't know what readers would want.

There's not too much else to say here. I do want to thank all my reviewers: realfanficts, PollyWantCookie, and VeralicProductions. I also wanted to say thank you to my new reader Haninator, who's given me a brilliant idea for a different POV in an upcoming chapter. As always, I will give the author's notes on anything that you bring up in a review. Thank you for reading!

**_~Sarai~_**

* * *

"I'm sorry, sir," a Security officer with his blast-visor on stood in their path, "but I cannot allow any unauthorized personnel through here. This is a restricted area."

"And I'm telling you that I have authorization," Sylir growled, "The ship landing here, in the next few minutes, is here to meet me." With a bit of a forceful shove, the Jedi Master placed his ID docs in the man's line of sight. "As you can see… I'm more than authorized."

"I'm sorry, sir, but that is just not possible. I have strict orders that no one is to have access to this landing pad."

Sylir threw his hands up in exasperation and whirled around. He didn't understand why this was so difficult, but he was pretty much to the point where he was about to draw his lightsaber in order to make his point. He had actually decided that this was not a bad idea, and Sylir had his lightsaber in his hand when he turned around… only to see Administrator Kahn standing before him.

The crisp and straight-backed woman observed him with a wary eye before speaking, "Jedi Master Sylir?"

"Yes."

"And your companion?" the Administrator looked to the blue Nautolan who had been quietly witnessing the Jedi attempt to gain entry.

"Cairee Lathes, Guildmaster of the Trader's Guild," Cai nodded politely.

"Very well… come with me." Pulling her silver officer's cap squarely over her brow, Administrator Kahn made an about face and led them through the high security blast doors. They entered what looked to be a den of chaos, but in its less hectic moments Sylir could tell that it was a fairly decent security office. Dozens of aides ran about carrying stacks of papers and files, while Central Security officers poured over datapads and information terminals.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Jedi," Kahn barked, turning left down a long hallway which was marked: _To Landing Zone_. "I want to know why your ship was destroyed and what the hell seven of my officers are doing dead. Not only that! I want to know why you've called more of your friends here. Abregado doesn't want trouble."

Sylir nodded apologetically, "I can understand that madam, and I assure you that I did not call Master Tarsus here. I would love to explain everything, but it is of the utmost urgency that we get her off of that shuttle and in here as quickly as possible."

"I'm not inclined to take orders from anyone, Jedi…"

"I bet you're not too inclined to dying either," Cai snapped, "But that's precisely what might happen if you hesitate to listen to him."

"Fine…" Kahn decided, sliding her passkey through the locking mechanism, "We'll get your friend inside, but after that… your ass is mine, Jedi."

"I'll adhere to every protocol," Sylir promised, following the Administrator out into the morning sunlight.

The sun was just beginning it parabolic journey into the sky, and the bright white rays were shining fervently in a clear blue sky. The roar of thrusters was heavy in the air as a Jedi shuttle began to make it's slow decent onto the platform, but Sylir was not watching that… no, he expected the danger to come from elsewhere. The keen predatory senses of the Cathar race were in overdrive as he scanned the surrounding area. He could sense nothing out of the ordinary. The only people on the landing platform were security personnel, and none of them were armed extravagantly; The Force also was not warning him of any immediate danger.

Perhaps the hunters had given up?

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind—all hell broke loose. Sylir didn't see where the attack had come from; a shrieking short range tank buster slammed into the Jedi shuttle and exploded from the inside, flames spewing from the interior of the craft. The shuttle's thrusters died and the lumbering craft hit the platform with a ground shaking slam!

Sylir and those around them were struggling to stay on their feet from the impact; out of the corner of his eyes, the Jedi master saw a white hot point appear in the ship's hull and then a whole section of metal plating flew into a far wall with the force of a Coruscant MagLevel train. A thin and lithe, rustic skinned Kel Dor flew from the hole in the wounded shuttled just as two large blasts erupted through its fuselage, engulfing the ship in a roaring blaze.

The Cathar Jedi had his lightsaber drawn and ignited, the Force carrying him to the other Jedi's side and helping to pat down the smoldering places on her robes. "Pella! Are you all right?"

The Kel Dor oriented herself and regained her footing, spinning to look at the burning wreckage with a shout of horror, "Sylir!! My padawan is still in there! She didn't get out!"

Sylir used his free hand to stop the distraught Jedi from rushing into the wreckage of the shuttle and possibly a trap… just as a soft, whispering "pop" sounded from off in the distance and rolled its way into Sylir's ears. Pella Tarsus fell backward into his arms, limp, as charred hole showed its glowing presence on her brow. The Cathar Jedi was not allowed time to show his horror, forced to drop the body as the Force warned of several more snipers bolts. With effortless dexterity, Sylir spun and batted the crimson bolts away; his yellow lightsaber protecting as he retreat as he dashed under the cover of an alcove nearby.

From this momentary respite, Sylir had a good vantage point to take in the entire landing platform… and it was a picture of confusion. Security guards were trying to figure out just what was going on, only to be cut down by expert marksman ship, which Sylir still couldn't pinpoint. The Jedi master was willing to bet on the presence of several snipers in different locations. This was definitely the work of his pursuers. With a feral curse, Sylir snarled at his current position: he'd gotten more Jedi killed, and this time innocent people were involved. And where was Cai? He couldn't see the blue skinned Nautolan anywhere among the chaos.

"_We don't grieve, Sylir…_" the words tore their way to the front of his mind. "_On the battlefield, during the mission… we do not grieve. You push all thoughts from your mind: except survival. You get to the end, and that is when you have time to mourn._"

"Of all the times to have a Padawan relapse," with a growl, Sylir steeled his nerves and nodded silently. Whether or not he wanted An'ya's words, at the moment they were just what he needed. Dashing from under his protective cover, he made his way across the landing platform; the yellow saber blade twisted glowing elegant arcs through the air as it warded off sniper shots.

"Sylir!" a voice shouted off to his left.

The moment's distraction almost cost him, as heated shot exploded in the durasteel ground before him. Adding a burst of speed to his step, Sylir turned in the direction of the voice to find Cai huddled behind a portable security field. The device was a laser shield that could be dropped anywhere and activated; it would protect against blaster fire and slow moving projectile rounds—so long as it wasn't put under a constant stress, which thankfully a sniper wouldn't be able to provide.

The Jedi leapt nimbly, swatting a bolt away as he reached the apex of his jump, and landed safely behind the barrier. They were in a corner and safe for the moment, but Sylir wouldn't recommend staying for long.

"Is this what you were talking about, Jedi?!" Administrator Kahn shouted as she ran crouched down and blaster drawn. The security woman managed to get behind the barrier with them, though her appearance was decidedly worse for wear. Her silver officer's cap was missing and the normally strict military hair was jostled and out of place, threatening to fall apart all together. "What the blazes is going on?"

"Now is not really the best time to explain, Madam Administrator," Sylir growled. From what he could tell they were the only three left alive on the landing platform. "I say we make a break for the doors."

The Administrator shook her head, "I'd make a better idea… I haven't gotten any word from inside. They'd have sent help immediately once they heard this commotion. Something's up."

As if she had willed fate into proving her right, the Administrator's words were followed by an explosion that ripped open the security blast doors leading on to the landing zone. Blaster bolts and smoke pour from the opening along with the sound of shouting and muffled screams. Safety would not be found within the security bunker.

"We need to get out of here… now!" Sylir shouted, urging the two women forward.

They ran from under their cover, sticking close to the wall with Sylir covering them. Kahn seemed to know a way off the platform that didn't involve the hell storm going on inside the compound, and that worked perfectly well in Sylir's opinion. His hands were full as it was. The moment they had left their cover, the snipers on the horizon had taken up their attacks anew; the Jedi found himself hard pressed to keep their little group clear… he wouldn't be able to keep it up for long. His injured shoulder was throbbing, and Sylir could tell that he'd managed to reopen his wound. There would be time to think about that later; right now he needed a better defense.

Quickly he scanned the smoking wreckage of the fallen shuttle, noticing that one of the wings wasn't on fire. He made a rash decision and threw his fate to the Force, holding out a grasping hand, latching on to the wing with an unseen grip. Sylir begged the fates to allow the fall to have weakened the ship's structural integrity—and was rewarded by a loud metallic screech. He pulled the wing over their head, holding it in place just in time… four high-powered sniper bolts thudded into the metal with echoing explosions.

"Fast thinking…" Cai muttered dropping back to watch their rear while Sylir focused on keeping their cover aloft.

They reached the end of the wall which housed a small doorway and nothing else. "I'm going to need a few seconds to enter the security override," the Administrator breathed. Her age was definitely getting to her. Sylir thought that something about that plan was off, but the concentration required to keep this wing aloft… it didn't snap with him until he heard Cai shouting.

"Sylir! We need to get moving!" the Nautolan dropped to one knee, her Nubian blaster squeaking off emerald blasts towards the slugged security entrance. Sylir couldn't see what she was shooting at.

"Got it!" the security locks bleeped a green light and the door began to open as the Administrator drew her weapon again.

Everything was happening so fast, Sylir was trying to process why he was getting this nervous warning in the Force. He almost slapped himself because it was so obvious! "No, don't!" he knew what lay behind those doors even before the resounded shock of blaster fire erupted.

Administrator Kahn was caught in the chest by two, large, crimson, cannon blasts; the force of which sent her flying out on to the landing platform where her form lay still. Sylir knew just what those blasts belonged too… he needed to be ready. Using the strength of his will, the Cathar slammed the ripped shuttle wing into the ground, providing a tall barrier-wall between Cai and the hunters that were coming through the blast doors, and it gave Sylir the few seconds he would need to focus upon getting them out of there.

Turning with his golden-yellow lightsaber at his side, the Jedi knew what waited beyond the door: the red skinned Twi'lek with her shoulder mounted cannons and heavy blaster stood waiting with about four other deadly looking beings. Sylir didn't have time to take in all their weapons, just that he knew what was coming next. The Force screamed, he ducked just as another twin set of cannon blasts shot towards him; but they were not aimed for him, rather they slammed into the stone work of the door frame above, attempting to cave the entrance in and seal their doom.

Sylir watched, in slow motion, the mixture of fire, plasma and stone as it began to crumble and meld together. The Force spoke to him, guiding his movements as he watched from a different perspective. His free hand shot up and grasped the falling debris, locking it in the embrace of the Force and its living energy; with a heaving effort he launched the attack back at the deadly Twi'lek and her companions. The debris, which should have trapped them, ended up working with surprising results… burying the five deadly beings under rock and slag. It wouldn't hold them for long and they couldn't afford to wait around. Sylir grabbed Cai and pulled her through the destroyed doorway.

"Run!" he urged. Already the beings covered in the rubble were beginning to recover; they could see forms moving and that could never be anything good. What the Cathar heard next was the roar of rockets and he spun around expecting another attack—what Sylir saw was worse.

Three figures were launching over the walls on jetpacks, the crimson armored commando at their lead. He didn't have time to cover Cai and come up with an idea… so he prayed—she kept running. Sylir called upon the Force just as the flying hunters cleared the wall. Grabbing onto the nearest jetpack, he sent the device, passenger and all, careening into the other flyer. The red armored being didn't even seem to care that its companions had fallen on top of the wall in an entangled mess… and Sylir didn't want to stick around to tangle with the experienced warrior.

Running on the wings of the Force, the Cathar caught up with his Nautolan companion, constantly weaving a golden pattern through the air with his lightsaber as he deflected fire from his pursuer. Sylir could sense other beings joining up with the red commando, and the Force warned him of others ahead—the hunters were closing in, shutting the jaws of their deadly trap. Sylir needed to think of something… fast, and where were all the pedestrians? Had security cleared them out of this area for some reason?

Sylir sensed a prick of caution from the Force, and, spinning around, he was able to deflect a difficult shot from one of his pursuer's twin blasters, but then the cold visor turned a fraction. The crimson warrior took a different aim and fired twice. Sylir could only deflect one bolt. As he repelled the one aiming for his chest; he heard Cai let out a agonizing scream.

The Jedi Master managed to catch her before she crumpled to the ground, dashing quickly into the nearest alley with the scarlet commando hot on their heels. The alley was a dead end, with a several meter high wall blocking their way. Sylir knew they only had one option; he just prayed it didn't hurt Cai too much. He leapt, summoning the Force underneath them like a spring, and they soared over the wall as a rapid trial of blaster bolts chased them up the wall. Sylir could feel the heat of one bolt on his scalp as it barely missed; then they dropped over the wall and out of the attacker's sight.

The force of the drop, even though Sylir softened it with the Force, caused Cai's leg to buckle. "Ahh…!" the Nautolan moaned, her head-tresses falling over the Cathar's shoulder as he held her from collapse.

"We need to keep moving!" he coaxed, able to hear the igniting of a jetpack on the other side of the wall.

"I know…" she moaned, pulling herself to her feet and gripping her blaster tightly.

The crimson warrior shot over the wall, both blasters aimed for Sylir. The Jedi spun around, reaching for the Force to throw the jetting trooper as he had the one before, but he found nothing to grip. The jetpack was a part of the armor, streamlined to the being's cold and burning resolve and it brushed away the Force by sheer mental strength. This being was a steel minded monstrosity—and it was going to do everything in its power to kill Sylir.

There was a squeal from Sylir's left, and a bright green blaster bolt struck the airborne commando in the chest. The force of the strike sent the red warrior cart wheeling through the air, losing one of its blasters and slamming into a wall. The last they saw of the red hunter, the being was clinging to the edge of the wall and trying to regain its bearings.

"Nice shot…" Sylir muttered, carrying most of Cai's weight for her as they weaved their way though alleys and back passages, hoping to remain out of the hunter group and their seemingly all present eyes.

"Just keep running to the north," Cai let her breath out in a gasp, "I know where we can go.

-- -- -- -- -- --

_It was dark… not the normal departure of day yielding to night._

_This was a darkness that had lain dormant, swirling under the surface of events for years—it had said so itself._

_But hibernation was over. Things had been put into motion; it was forced to wait again, forced to move its schedule... but now it was back, and it was familiar. The darkness was twisting into the light, covering over everything that was pure—writhing, ensnaring, suffocating. It wrapped around her arms, her legs—threatening to smother her with a pressure so great that it stopped sound and made it stand still. She couldn't scream._

Jeta Brier awoke instantly.

The Jedi ran two trembling hands through her spiky, chin length locks. Her body was wracked with chills, even though the temperature was warm—she could feel her robes were damp with a cold sweat all over her body. It was like this every time she slept. The darkness that hid at the corner of her sight during the day—it crept forward in her dreams; whispering and taunting. It was coming… she could sense it. Getting up from the small bed, Jeta slapped the controls for her windows. The screen vanished, revealing the morning that had been going on for hours. She had to get up and face the day; this room was going to give her no peace. Besides, she had duties of which to attend. Apparently the Chancellor had asked for her and Dain's presence at a press meeting, which meant she had to be down at the taxi dock in less than fifteen minutes.

Taking a quick look in the mirror revealed all that needed to be seen, she looked like death warmed over and little could be done about that. These visions had been getting worse for her and still yielded little insight. She hadn't felt anything like this during the war—not since Shaak Ti's death. That was probably the worst vision she had ever experienced, and that was because… Jeta stopped her thoughts right there. She refused to even speak the name to herself.

She threw on her dark brown boots and pulled her pale lavender outer robes on, brushing a hand through her hair; it was as good as she could manage for today. She opened the door just as Dain was about to knock and smiled politely at him, "I saw you coming."

"And that never fails to creep me out," He smiled back. "I would say good morning… but it looks like it wasn't."

Jeta shook her head and begged him to drop the subject, "The visions are getting worse."

The Grand Master nodded thoughtfully, "You'll let me know if it's something to worry about."

Ah… tactful Dain. He knew she wouldn't talk about it, yet he was still concerned. She smiled genuinely and gave him a hug, "Of course. Once I have an idea of what is going on… I promise to let you know first thing."

They walked in silence for a few moments… such a thing wasn't out of the ordinary for them. Jeta felt comfortable around Dain, protected, and he said that she kept him calm. It was a symbiotic relationship. By the time they had reached the taxi dock, Dain had managed to rifle through his thoughts and get to the main point that was bothering him, "Your old Master seemed different…"

"Well she looks to be my age now," Jeta smiled, "I can't help but be a little jealous."

Dain laughed and waited for her serious answer. Jeta had a way of avoiding serious issues with humor. She wasn't afraid of admitting it, but she knew that sometimes it was easier than having to deal. Her visions were serious enough—sometimes she felt that she needed a break.

With a sigh, Jeta nodded, "She's been gone for a decade… of course she's different. Who knows how many times she actually fought Bicara, what things she's been through… she was alone all that time. I know that she is still a Jedi; An'ya wouldn't have bothered coming back here if she didn't feel connected to us. I think you could be a little less abrasive and a little more open to getting along."

"She abandoned us, Jeta… all of us, at a time when we could have used her help the most."

"Or she had enough faith in you and the others to do your job here… that she went and took care of a dangerous threat. Not only did she keep Bicara from killing who knows how many innocents… But, by doing what she did, An'ya saved many other Jedi from dying."

With a frown, Dain went back into his own thoughts and Jeta patted him lightly on the arm. Some things had to be worked out on your own. As much as she wanted to help Dain fix his problems, he was the only one who could get over his anger at An'ya, and Jeta was up to her neck in her own troubling thoughts. They were both totally immersed in their own heads when the Taxi arrived at the Senate Rotunda.

The moment they landed, the two Jedi were hurried from the air car and rushed through the crowd of reporters and into the welcoming eyes of Chancellor Evreux. The genial man beamed at them, dressed in elegant robes of state made of deep violet and gold fabrics… he was definitely gave off a better public image than Palpatine had. It could also make him more dangerous... if he wasn't such a coward. The Chancellor was genuinely a good man, Jeta could feel it, but he was manipulative and morally weak. It came from being a life-long politician… still… it made him good for his job, but a nightmare for the Jedi.

"Come on!" He waved them forward. "We're read to begin! Master Cross," the Chancellor bowed politely to the Grand Master, "Master Brier… are we ready?"

"I believe so…" Dain smiled, bowing in return. Jeta nodded and gave her bow.

Each Jedi took a step backwards and stood on one side of the Chancellor. This action was for several reasons: the best being that they could protect him easily if someone were to attempt an assassination… the others having to do with public image and respect. The Jedi didn't want the public to think that they were equal with the government, or that they thought themselves better than. The Jedi Order was made up of law abiding beings… and they had to show that. Such were the annoyances in Jeta's life… and these were the easy ones to deal with.

"My friends!" The Chancellor exclaimed, "People of the Renewed Republic! We are here today… to introduce you to—"

"My return…"

All eyes turned to the cold, melodic voice. It sounded pleasantly murderous, and it matched its owner perfectly. Each person gather locked eyes upon the woman dressed in black shimmer silk robes. She was dressed similar to a Jedi, but it was evident that there were many differences in their presentation: for instance… the woman did not wear an under tunic beneath the thin, wispy outer robes; rather she wore a form fitting dress of the same material. Her belt was little more than a thin piece of leather which proudly displayed two gleaming hilts of black stone… and her eyes, those crimson orbs, were filled with malicious intent.

Jeta and Dain moved simultaneously to stand in front of the Chancellor, their lightsabers instantly ignited. Dain's weapon casting a brilliant cerulean light across the crowd; Jeta's viridian blade bathed them all in the soft light of the forest… but the woman before them didn't move.

A victorious smile tweaked the corners of her dark lips, as dozens of Senate guards poured out of their hiding places in the crowd—blasters trained on the dark entity.

"Keep your distance," Dain cautioned.

"Master Jedi…" the Chancellor protested.

Jeta placed a hand on Wilhelm Evreux's chest and gave him a look that warned him to be quiet, "Please, Chancellor…" The man nodded and took a safe step back.

"Oh dear…" the woman in black frowned, her dejection completely artificial, "It would seem you have me, Dain Cross." Slowly the woman removed the cylinders from her belt and held them out to her side; she made no attempt to struggle when a pair of Senate Guards tentatively took them from her hands. Once relieved of her weapons, the woman bowed her head, and placed her hands behind her back, "Take me into custody, Jedi."

As they placed binders over her wrists and injected a Force-repressing drug into her system, the woman in black stayed completely still, moving only when they came to escort her away from the premises. Then she moved, turning her eyes slightly to look at Jeta directly… those sanguine eyes spoke the volumes of words that were unsaid. The darkness had returned, and it had a name…

Darth Virtra.


	10. Of Left Turns and Debates

_And... we are back after a LONG, LONG pause._

_I feel like I have to explain why... you deserve that much. The reason is simple: I get bitchy when I don't get what I want, and what I wanted was dozens of people telling me what they thought about my story and frankly not many people made it past chapter 2. It annoyed me, and thus I went off and decided to write it for myself and attempt to get it published. Problem with that? Not really, except it's laughable to think that they would publish an Alternate Universe story for Star Wars, so I ended up retooling a great deal of it... to the point that they really aren't the same story any longer. Yes, they have a basic plot that both follow, but... well they aren't the same. So, now you get to finish reading this (if you so desire) until I run out of the chapters I had made for it... and then I'll have to get my butt in gear and finish it. Thankfully I have all the way until chapter 20 finished. Go me._

_As always, I answer and and all questions, respond to all reviews, and I enjoy saying thank you for anything you point out with my spelling/punctuation. I am a perfectionist after all. _

_Much Love,_  
_Sarai_

* * *

**Chapter 10**

"Left!" Cai shouted, alerting Sylir just in time to duck down a gap between two buildings and rush onto another street. There was the crack and scream of a blaster bolt burning into the wall behind them. The hunters were getting closer, and they were slowing down.

"What next?" Sylir whipped his lightsaber behind him, knocking away one of the deadly red projectiles.

"Turn right at the merchant shop!" Cai shouted, pointing at a vibrant sign hanging from a gaudy metallic shop front.

Danger…

Sylir stopped their momentum just as three silver projectiles embedded themselves in the street before them. Cai's eyes widened, and Sylir's gaze turned up to the nearest rooftop. Crouched above them was a tall, lean woman with long hair which caught the breeze like a net. She looked like an ancient warrior—but right now Sylir was more worried about the deadly weapons interlaced with her fingers. The blond assailant had three more of the thin knives in one of her hands, and from what he could tell—she threw them fast and accurate. If the Force hadn't warned him, both he and Cai would be dead; a lightsaber wasn't going to be very helpful here.

"We need to run…" he shoved Cai onward, jumping just barely to miss the next barrage of projectiles.

The Amazonian woman leaped from the roof, throwing another blade directly for his head. Sylir ducked and charged for the woman… only to find that she had already drawn another blade and thrown it for his chest. The Cathar threw up a hand, summoning the Force to barely deflect the weapon in time. He snarled, gritting his teeth as the blade cut a thin line down his arm—the price for becoming hasty. With better success, Sylir deflected another two blades and used the Force to throw the tall woman through a shop window.

Her form crashed through the glass with a loud shattering noise; Sylir took this chance to catch up with Cai. The fleeing Nautolan had made it to the shop front and was taking a right down the alleyway. Just as he caught up with her, turning to follow her lead; there was a shrill whistle of something passing through the air with great speed. The Jedi Master turned just in time to miss being stabbed by another flying knife. The glistening blade tore a gash through his upper thigh as he jumped to dodge, burying itself into a far wall with wet, warm rubies running down its blade.

Sylir growled with pain, but he was—for the most part—unharmed. He couldn't believe how persistent these hunters were being; well, if he had to correct his disbelief, it wasn't that he couldn't take their persistence—rather they never seemed to stop. These beings were masters of their craft, and they were holding their own against him rather well. Each hunter knew how to cover another's weaknesses. Every time that he felt he could take one of them down, another hunter appeared to fill the gap he had created. He couldn't help but feel exhausted, which he was.

"How much further?" Sylir snarled, angrily. It wasn't directed at his companion, but at his lack of ability to stop these foes—this was a new situation for him.

"If we could get a break," Cai wrapped an arm around Sylir in order to move faster, "It's really not that far."

Sorrowfully, Sylir looked at Cai, "If I wasn't alone I might be able to thin their ranks… but I'm a little distracted at the moment." He gave her a sheepish grin; then leapt the two of them over a short wall, hoping to put some obstacles between their retreat and the people chasing them down.

"Knife lady is pretty impressive," Cai muttered, "Not as frightening as your red friend back there… but enough so. You think you can take her?"

"I could," Sylir said without ego.

"Then go buy us some time… you can find me right?"

The Cathar nodded.

"Then go!" Cai urged, breaking away from Sylir and running down the alleyway.

The Jedi master didn't want to split up; he knew that was how L'loria had died, but Cai was not a Jedi—perhaps that would save her. A sharp whistle drew his attention upward, to see the knife thrower on the roof above, barely in time to dodge a flying blade. How had she gotten up there so quickly?

Sylir placed himself close to a stone wall, preparing a jump with the Force as he attempted to get behind the blond combatant; however, it appeared she didn't want to take the battle to rooftops, jumping down to the street level to face him. A flurry of blades flew towards Sylir, and he threw himself flat. The blades whirred overhead, lodging in the wall behind him, and the Jedi propelled himself forward. A tremor in the Force turned into a propelling wave, knocking aside the retaliation attack—knives flying in all direction. The Force threw the female warrior backwards where she slammed into a wall.

The knife thrower was skilled, remarkably so, but she didn't have the Force—and Sylir did. The Jedi prepared to launch forward and dispatch his foe when suddenly the ground exploded. Sylir was pelted with gravel and heat, summoning the Force about him to shield his face and body as he went flying. Hitting the ground, the Jedi Master rolled coming up to see an angry Twi'lek with shoulder cannons trained on him and a very nasty Barabel standing next to her.

"Great…" Sylir muttered to himself, "Reinforcements."

Three against one normally wouldn't be a problem for a Jedi—normally. Under these circumstances he wasn't willing to take two against one, much less these odds. That feeling was proven mutual when the Barabel threw a small black orb at him. Sylir recognized it almost immediately… it was a high-velocity projectile launcher; street name: Barab Pincushion. The device emitted a sonic pulse which shook the Cathar's auditory sense and killed his sense of equilibrium… and then it exploded, launching dozens of deadly barbs in a random radius—most of which were headed towards him.

Sylir's eyes widened and he threw up both hands in shock. What happened next could only be proclaimed as miraculous. He called upon the Force and it answered with exuberance, far different that usual. Feeling it surge through his arms and around him in a shield, it almost felt effortless—until he felt the sting of several barbs pierce his upper body. The projectiles didn't go deep and were more of a stinging annoyance than a danger. When he applied a bit of his own will, the rest of the danger was harmlessly deflected as if he were surrounded by a wall of steel plating.

The feeling was gone the moment that Sylir let down his arms, feeling far more tired than he had a moment ago—which meant it was time to run. He motioned to the fallen barbs, launching them with the Force towards the hunters who were rounding the corner to attack him again. Sylir watched with amusement as the hunters ducked again behind walls, trying to escape the deadly barbs of their own weapon. Sylir felt no guilt for his glee, and he used the spare moment to leap onto a rooftop, heading for the direction where he sensed Cai.

[...]

"The Jedi has taken to the rooftops," Brejec muttered into his wrist-comm. From his vantage point on the tower, the expert sniper could see pretty much everything that was going on. "I have a shot if you want me to take it."

"No." Allara's voice was very stern; he knew what that tone meant. "I want the others to bring this Jedi down. How is the sky net?"

"I have snipers posted at north and east… west is relocating due the Jedi's change in path… but I can still see him from hear. We won't lose him."

"Good… I'm in route with my squad and Lovast is circling around… we'll have him trapped shortly.

Brejec took a look down his scope at the Jedi, "He's moving towards the Outer Ward… Rhiar is hot on his tail with some of squad one, those that aren't injured… better hope Lovast hurries or the Jedi's about to make it to civilians."

"Then why don't you call and let him know?" Allara cut the transmission and Brejec was left with static silence.

The old man chuckled, taking his finger off the trigger in order to punch-in the new comm-channel. Allara could have been his daughter in another time and circumstance—he felt as if she were. Still, everything was always business with her; it made her a good leader, but not a nice person. Perhaps one day that would have talk about that. "Lovast," he called, "It's Brejec. I have a point for you."

"Go ahead sky net…" a voice answered.

"Jedi is about three clicks from and headed for the Outer Ward, due about three degrees from the southwest."

"Understood… moving to intercept."

Brejec trained his scope back in on the Jedi just in time to see a flurry of blaster fire redirect the Cathar's course. Looks like Lovast wasn't too far after all. There was a twinge of regret—only for a moment—as Brejec thought about what that could mean. The Jedi was going to die. It wasn't every day that one witnessed such a display of skill. The fact this Jedi was putting up such a good fight—it was a testament to his skills. Brejec would hate to see him actually put down.

Still… if the other Jedi on Coruscant were this good, Brejec smirked at the thought… perhaps he wouldn't regret it after all.

[...]

"Damn fool of a Jedi!" Rhiar snarled, barreling down the street as she watched the Jedi leap from his perch on the roof and into an ally across the way, "And damn Lovast for getting in the way!"

"I'm going to go around…" Perel announced, breaking off from the group and dashing down an alley like a wood nymph. The woman was so graceful while at the same time deadly… Rhiar hated and admired her.

Picking up the pace, the red Twi'lek skidded around the corner just in time to see the Jedi. Both of her shoulder cannons kicked, the large scarlet blasts exploding into the wall just shy of missing the Jedi. Rhiar swore and tore after him again. Unexpectedly, Calixa was on her flank.

The Barabel had deep red-orange scales like the setting sun, and she wore the standard black clothes of her people—a simple creature, but she was sharp and cunning. Calixa cared about few things, and attaining a kill was one of them. She didn't bother with all the fancy weaponry that most of the Toran'ak used; rather she preferred to hunt naturally by sight and smell. It was honorable, as was her belief that she could take down a Jedi with only a heavy blaster… but Rhiar had decided, in the case of Jedi, less was not more. They needed the weapons and the skill, Calixa would end up slowing them down—as would Perel in the long run.

"Perel is setting up a trap… just force the Jedi onto the street," the reptile didn't offer any further information. At least her speech was more understandable than Varesk.

"Any more helpful information?" Rhiar smarted?

"Yeah," Calixa flashed a fanged smile, "Don't follow him too closely."

Having circled around, Perel came out onto an empty street. Off in the distance she could hear the sounds of Rhiar's cannons—they were getting closer. That was a good sign, but she would have to be quick. The Amazon drew several knives from a special belt on her left thigh—these knives came in pair… each connected on the end by filament-razor. The fine wire could sever a Gamorrean in half as if it were warm fat… and the stupid pig wouldn't even know about it until both halves were on the ground.

With several deft flicks of her wrist, Perel strung the knives across the street, covering the air between her and the approaching Jedi with the near invisible filament. He'd come running for her, hoping for a repeat of last encounter… and he'd be dead before he even came close. Perel smiled grimly at the though, taking a step back to make sure the sun wouldn't reveal the presence of her trap. Satisfied that everything was in order, Perel drew three knives for both hands and prepared for the Jedi.

As if summoned, the Cathar came barreling around the corner, much closer than she had expected—meaning it would be over that much sooner. She locked eyes on the Jedi and let fly one hand of her projectiles. The dazzling silver knives were knocked aside by some invisible hand and Perel once again cursed the Force for being able to destroy her perfect art. This drew the Jedi's attention, and he focused his attention on here.

Perel was ready… and then she was caught off guard. Rather than rush towards her, the Jedi threw his yellow blade as if it were a projectile weapon. The deadly revolving blade tore through her trap like flimsy paper and came directly for her. In desperation Perel spun sideways, throwing her other hand of knives in an attempt to stop the Jedi… it succeeded; partially.

The golden yellow blade burned a whelp across her chest as she hit the ground, watching as the Jedi only received minor cuts from her last attack. Perel hated the force, and she hated how it had returned the Jedi's weapon to him. He was going to kill her for certain—

Scream of blaster fire. The heat of an explosion.

The Jedi dance away from her as Rhiar and Calixa opened fire upon the target. Perel had never been more thankful for their loud, noisy and inelegant weapons than she was now. The tall warrior pulled herself to her feet and joined in the pursuit, making a mental note to herself to study more about this "force" the Jedi used. She was tired of her knives being rendered useless by the Jedi… and sick of the others for looking down upon her.

[...]

Sylir whirled around the next corner and saw Cai slumped against a dead end wall. His first thoughts were those of horror and panic, but then she lifted her head up and looked at him with weary eyes. "Bout time you got here…" she muttered, struggling to her feet.

There was a rapid, shrill beeping that Sylir knew all too well, and he spun around just as the red Twi'lek lobbed a thermal detonator at his feet. The Cathar threw both hands towards the explosive, leaping for what felt like the thousandth time that day… but it was just a moment too late. The explosion was managed by the Force, but the seismic waves blew the Jedi off his feet. Sylir landed on his back, winded as the full force of the detonator was released. Heat dried out his eyes and stood his fur on end; he threw hands up to his head and tucked into a ball to escape most of the damage… which was minimal, thankfully.

His lightsaber had landed somewhere, but who knew exactly; The Jedi Master rolled onto his knees and opened his eyes… and he saw red. A blaster fired and he rolled back… barely missing the deadly shot—which burned into the ground where his head had hung moments ago. Using the force, Sylir summoned his weapon to him and ignited the blade. He faced off with the red armored commando, the Twi'lek with twin shoulder cannons, the blond knife thrower… a deadly looking Barabel—and with the clicking of weapons all around her, Sylir's gaze took in about twenty other deadly mercenaries or bounty hunters—it didn't matter what they were. He was outnumbered, and one of them was going to hit him and possibly Cai in the process.

His Nautolan companion was standing directly behind him now… and he knew that it was over.

"It's over Jedi…" the mechanical voice spoke from behind the Mandalorian T-visor.

Sylir nodded, deactivating his weapon. "Make a promise on your word?" he asked.

The cold hunter nodded, the red helmet barely moving a fraction up and down.

"Let her go. She has nothing to do with this.'

"You're right," the Mandalorian spoke, surely the entity had been a Mandalorian at one point—only they operated with this cold detachment; Mandalorians and sociopaths that was. "You were the one who involved others."

"That was my fault," Sylir admitted.

"Die with honor, Jedi." The clawed, copper hand brought up the lethal looking blaster and took aim.

Sylir heard the shot. As he let himself be embraced by the ever present arms of the Force; he knew that he had heard it… but that was a second after the fact that he had noticed the floor disappear from underneath his feet. Except he wasn't standing on floor—he had been standing on a street, a street which was connected to the planet's surface… so how had that disappeared? Sylir didn't know. As he was swallowed into darkness, the only thing the Jedi Master knew—was that he was falling, and he was alive.

[...]

The blaster bolt scored the wall behind the Jedi.

Allara watched with both fascination and anger as the ground literally opened up and swallowed the Jedi. She had known the Force to do amazing thing, but this wasn't one of them. She turned her helmeted visage towards Lovast who was poised on the edge of a roof. "What in the seven Trade Routes was that!" The shout, coming from the synthesized voice of the helmet, was bizarre and frightening.

Lovast and several others, including Marec the Bith scientist, jumped down and began examining the area where the Jedi and the Nautolan had vanished. It was several minutes before they had anything, all the while Allara was growing more and more irritated.

Finally Marec was the one who approached her. The Bith was calm and collected, and she had a faint idea that he didn't really care about death—the scientist was warped in that manner. "Madam I believe what we have stumbled across here… is the entrance to an underground sublevel… it could have been her for centuries or days for all I know, but it grants access to a subterranean altitude on Abregado-rae. My guess… black market or underground imperial faction."

"And can we get into it?"

The Bith chuckled as if she had just made a joke. When Allara took her helmet off and let her brown and copper eyes do the talking for her, Marec swallowed and became professional once more, "I'm afraid not. There is a layer of duracrete, under that you have standard security doors, and under that I'm afraid you have high density blast doors… people don't want you to get in—or anyone for that matter. It would take a drilling crew, with industrial grade beam drills, a week to get through that, and we don't have half that power in explosives." Marec rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his face, "I supposed there is probably a security measure used to open the door, but locating it in this alleyway and then figuring out how to open it will take time."

"How in the karking hell does this Jedi keep getting away!" Allara yelled, spinning on her heel and storming away from the scientist. It took her all of three seconds to regain her head, even though she was still seething. It shouldn't have been this difficult. The Jedi from the shuttle died without a problem… the Padawan burned up in the shuttle explosion—they'd found the body and the lightsaber to corroborate it. The Zabrak padawan had died with ease… they'd taken out a fully manned security station for crying out loud! What did this one Jedi have that kept saving him?

"You, Rhiar," she pointed to the Twi'lek, "Take a team and find out what's down there and how many other entrances there are. Who knows about it, who can get in, why would they be down there."

Allara spun, "Lovast!"

"Yes," he saluted.

"Take some of the others and get back to the apartment. Man the eye and see if the Jedi surfaces. We found him twice… we can find him again."

When that order of business was taken care of, Allara turned her steely gaze upon Marec, satisfied that the scientist actually had to adjust his collar, "I want you to take whatever you need… because I know we have it… and get this entrance open."

"I will do my best," Marec assured her.

Allara was assured. As she followed Lovast and his group back to their current center of operations. So the Jedi had evaded her twice, and he took out an up and coming sniper… he was good. He was on the Council for a reason then. This was ok… it wouldn't bother her. She'd proven today that they could corner him—they could kill him. The Jedi may not believe in luck, but Allara did. She knew that luck was the only thing to have saved him… he was lucky she had honor.

The leader of the Toran'ak had no problem with leaving the Nautolan female alive… she wasn't part this—though Allara could feel the throbbing bruise from where that alien had shot her. The Armor had done its job and saved her life, but that didn't mean she didn't feel it… she would have to clean her equipment tonight—that would give her something to do while she thought this out.

[...]

"You don't even know what you are saying!"

"I don't? You weren't even there!"

"This isn't even the problem! The problem is sitting in the bowls of the Senate Rotunda!"

"Right now that isn't a problem… it's a relief!"

The Jedi Council Chambers where in an uproar, as was perhaps fifty percent of the galactic populace… the other half would be joining within the next twenty-four hours; still, no one would be feeling this sense of confusion like the Jedi were at the moment. They all had personal feelings and ties to what had gone down this morning, and none of them were feeling very reassured about the outcome.

"You're telling me that Darth Virtra, the person who nearly killed Master Yoda fourteen years ago, who succeeded in killing Master Ti… who made an assassination attempt on Palpatine just for a laugh… just surrendered her weapons and let Senate guards drag her away?" Kyle was trying his hardest not to laugh in his brother's face, "She knocked out half of the Imperial Center's power grid when she made that assassination attempt. I don't think anyone has forgotten that!"

"No… Kyle, we haven't," Jeta snapped, "Which is why Dain is so on edge—as am I. My visions have been hinting about something like this for days… I just didn't know what it meant."

"I tend to agree with Kyle on this," Maris looked ruefully at Dain. "Why would Darth Virtra go into custody without putting up a fight?"

"Because it's not her," Kyle chuckled, "Someone is just playing for their ten minutes of fame."

"It's fifteen minutes, idiot," Dain snapped, "And I'm certain it was her… I'd never forget that face."

"Then why can't we feel her?" Kyle shot back, "She hung in the Force like a fog… you felt as if you couldn't breathe when she was around… and now she magically appears and we don't feel anything?"

"Right now she is in a maximum security room, pumped full of Force-repressing agents, surrounded by Ysalamir, and monitored by two Jedi Knights outside at all times… along with a full platoon outside her cell. She's not even conscious, much less accessing the Force."

"What about before?" Depa proposed, "Kyle raises an excellent question. Why couldn't we sense her before? She couldn't just appear on Coruscant. She has to have been in the galaxy for days… which is probably when Jeta's visions started."

The seer shook her head, "I don't know if she was the cause or not… all I know is that she's going to bring calamity, darkness, and ruin if we don't do something."

"We've heard all this before and then she just vanished…" Maris snarled irritably, "Why don't we just execute her to make sure we are in the clear?"

"Maris?" Several of the Council members exclaimed.

"If it is indeed, Darth Virtra," Zallar muttered, "We'd be doing the galaxy a favor, but without knowing for certain… could we sacrifice the code so readily?"

"If it destroyed that monster…" Maris bristled, "Yes."

"No." Jeta countered, "Jedi have survived without doing it before… we won't do it now."

"The Jedi haven't faced Virtra before!" Maris shot back.

"That we know of," the Wookiee's silver face was a mixture of consternation and deep thought, "She certainly knew of us before we encountered her the first time, and if she is as old as she claims to be… perhaps Jedi of the past have faced her."

"Then she killed them as well, because…" Maris pointed out the window, "Look who is still here."

"Maris is right," all attention was drawn to An'ya Kuro, who stood framed in the doorway of the Council Chamber. Somehow the appearance of the youthfully-old Jedi Master had managed to silence all of the argument that had been going on. "The way I see it… we have two options: it is either Darth Virtra, or it is an impostor. Are you willing to take the chance? If it is not… you've killed a depraved lunatic who thought it would be a smart choice to impersonate a murderer and a tyrant. If it is—you've saved the galaxy. A small price for liberty if you ask me."

All mouths were open as she spoke, except for Dain. The Grand Master looked straight ahead defiantly, "Master Kuro… why are you here?"

"Because it is just before the evening meal…" An'ya offered, "You were to hear my request at this time."

"We agreed to no such thing…"

"But you will hear it," An'ya interrupted. She stared Dain down until he sat back in his chair, silent and resigned. The other Masters present had no problem listening to something other than an argument. "The galaxy is on the verge of repeating history," An'ya repeated, "Darth Virtra is back… and no matter where you keep her—if she isn't dead, she's a threat. On the opposite side you have Darth Vader and Palpatine's Remnant. If we don't act, the galaxy will be torn asunder by war with two Sith factions once more… we cannot, in good conscience, allow that to happen again.

"Therefore I propose," An'ya took to the center of the Council Chamber, standing before all gather with a strait posture, "That I take a small team of Jedi to track down Vader and end his threat permanently… as I did with Darth Bicara."

The silence was long… and it was unsettling.

Then there was a storm of voices once again.

"Absolutely not!" Dain shouted, outraged.

"Why not?" Maris sneered, "Because it gets something done?"

"We cannot condone murder!" Jeta pleaded, looking at her old master, but An'ya was making eye contact with no one.

"It's not murder if it's protecting someone else or the galaxy," Kyle pointed out.

"You cannot justify killing anyone," Dain shot.

It continued back and forth until both Zallar and Depa stood up and shouted, "ENOUGH!"

Zallar took his seat and left the rest to the Chalactan Jedi, he was only needed for his outstanding vocals in this instance—Depa would know what to say.

"You're bickering like the younglings downstairs, not like the Council of elders who are supposed to view things with a clear mind and a sound conscience," Depa's bandaged face seemed to gaze into each and every member gather, "We will deal with these issues one at a time. Master An'ya's request will be first."

Depa looked at An'ya, "Her request is unorthodox, but these are not ordinary times. Peace is fragile… but do we sacrifice ourselves for peace, if it means corrupting all of us? Or is your request so pure of intentions, Master Kuro? I cannot be the one to judge… but I do call them into question. The matter can only be settled by a vote, and once the vote has been reached… it is the duty of the Grand Master to set the parameters." Depa looked to Dain to start the proceeding.

"I ask for each of your opinions on Master Kuro's request…" Dain said evenly.

They started on the left with Zallar, "I for one am against it. Darth Vader has made no move upon the Republic in ten years… if he makes one now, we are prepared with patrols on the outer rim. We are not so weak that he can pose the threat he did in our youth. Darth Virtra is the more pressing matter."

Kyle was next. "I agree. Vader is as much of a threat if not more… he has the forces, the following, and the knowledge of things that have been going on. He's not some old woman come back for the glory days, and we don't have him locked up and ready for execution. I say that we send Master Kuro, Master Brood, and myself to take Vader out. The Galaxy will sleep safer once he's gone."

"Absolutely not," Dain said looking at his brother, "This is ludicrous. I can't even begin to understand why we are actually considering this request. Master Kuro, with as much respect as I can give her at the moment, is a relic from an old era… and even at that time she was radical. This is the outcry of a zealot who needs to find evil in the galaxy, and if she cannot... she does not have peace of mind. The Jedi cannot condone her actions any longer."

"While Dain's words are—harsh," Jeta couldn't look at her master any longer, "I don't believe that he is wrong. Perhaps your time away from all of us has been… difficult? I think that with time, you might come to see things in the proper light again, but the time you spent chasing Bicara has given you an incorrect view of the galaxy... and its people. I'm against it."

"You people don't get it…" Maris sighed, almost willing to cry out in frustration. She was in the same position they had placed her in ten years ago—except she had more responsibility now, "We need to change, and we do... little by little, but it is never in the right direction… you stick to some codes, you change others… what makes us able to decide that one member of the Council is correct and another is not?" With a deep sigh, Maris looked at An'ya, "I wish nothing more than to support your request, An'ya… but with the Jedi Code as it is, they are correct. This isn't in accordance... It does not mean you are wrong, but until things change… my duties to the Council, and to this order will not allow me to support you."

An'ya's straightforward gaze faltered at this announcement… she was already out voted, and Depa was the only one remaining. An'ya looked at her old friend with pleading eyes. She didn't care that she was out voted, but she did need this one vote—this last bit of confidence in her abilities.

"I cannot agree," Depa said quietly, "But it is not for the reasons this Council has stated." Her words cut off An'ya's urge to wallow in despair. "My friend… my long time companion, Master Kuro, has been through a traumatizing and life changing event. She may not realize it, but her battle with Bicara could have yet unknown effect… beyond the changes that we see. I for one cannot feel safe or secure in sending her to face Vader, until I know that she is going to be safe—or that the Jedi under her watch will be protected. She is the greatest warrior I know… and I value her opinions."

Dain couldn't help but feel the painful jab that came from those words. He was the one who had defeated Vader the first time; not An'ya… but Depa was calling her the greatest warrior? It wasn't—the Grand Master took a deep breath. "The Council has decided… your request, Master Kuro, is denied. I hereby removed your sanction by this Council until further evaluation. If you leave to pursue any endeavors… it is not with the support of the Jedi Order. If you wish to remain with us, then you make take up a room here; you can spend time in meditation, and we will discuss this matter further once we have decided on the matter of Darth Virtra." Dain locked eyes with An'ya, daring her to start anything that would give him a reason to prove who the greatest warrior was.

"_You're going to take this?_" Bicara's voice was incredulous. "_All you have to do is spank the child and the others will listen to you._"

"No," An'ya said aloud… more to Bicara, but it was enough to get them all to listen to her words. "I will not pursue other endeavors. I accept… your ruling, even though I view it as flawed. I will retire for the evening meal now." With that she turned and exited the chambers without another word.

Kyle glared at his brother, and Dain only watched as the Jedi master fled from her defeat.

"I suggest we all do the same…" Depa offered, getting up from her seat, "We are not in any state to review the matter of Darth Virtra further. I suggest we consult the Force for the night, and then reconvene in the morning."

There was a somber silence among the Council Members as they filed from their chambers. The Jedi Order wasn't ready for another calamity—they weren't ready for dealing with it. Depa had a feeling that every dark force in the galaxy could sense this weakness—perhaps that is why Virtra had decided to return. With her monstrous presence, the Sith could easily pull those forces into a cohesive unit. Crime syndicates, war lords, pirates, the Imperial Remnant… if Virtra was to truly make her presence in the galaxy… they'd all be clawing at her feet for just a piece of the glory. As she made her way back towards her sleeping quarters, Depa wondered if An'ya's solution was really so dark after all?


	11. Of Conversations in a Cage

Ok, here we are with another chapter!

I meant to have this up much sooner, but the hard drive which I thought I had stored all my chapters on? Well it wasn't the right hard drive. I have found the rest of the chapters (I really need to make sure I back up my files in more than one place), and so... we should be one a good schedule now.

This chapter is one of my favorites. It's simple and complex all at the same time. I hope you enjoy it.

_**Sarai**_

* * *

**Chapter 11**  
**Conversations with a Caged Beast**

Sylir woke with a groan, rolling off of his stomach and onto his back. The first thing he noticed was that the world around him was dark. He closed and opened his eyes again—nothing. His acute sight was picking up no light, perhaps the fall had jarred the optic nerve, or he could still be unconscious and this was a dream.

"Sylir…" Cai's voice whispered out from the darkness, "Where are you?"

"Still on the floor," the Jedi muttered, focusing his hearing to pinpoint where she was.

"Good… don't move," she warned, "And… you might want to close your eyes."

It was a short warning. The Cathar was barely able to collapse his eyelids before light suddenly poured into the room. There was a whirring sound of electricity kicking in, more and more lights warming up, and then he thought he could hear generators running—he wasn't wrong. The entire floor slowly began descending… not as rapidly as they had fallen, but definitely at the pace of a grav-lift. Sylir opened his eyes slowly, letting his vision adjust.

They were in an eight meter square room… bright artificial lights in the ceiling, floor and walls… and made of dark, murky metal. The Jedi had no idea where they were going, and before he could ask. The room jerked to a halt and Cai walked over to a blank wall—which turned out to be a door. The wall opened outward and the Nautolan motioned for him to follow her.

Sylir stepped out of the lift only to find a bright golden droid aiming what could possibly have been the largest heavy cannon he had ever seen for his head. The droid was glossy and polished on it chassis and head, while its limbs were dull and covered with a grey paint in random areas… Sylir couldn't tell if it was a new droid or an old model that was well taken care of; which was probably what its owner wanted. The droid turned its red optical sensors upon the Jedi, the golden head reminding him of old republic assassin droids.

"Declaration: Hold sentients or I will open fire," the mechanical voice was almost gleeful at such a prospect; Sylir didn't want to know why.

Looking up at the droid, which stood an easy two meters and therefore towered over Sylir, the Jedi held his hands out passively, "Ok…"

"Oh stuff it Kay-ten," Cai muttered, coming out of the lift behind Sylir and looking at the droid with annoyance, "Who was the brilliant person that put you on sentry duty?"

"He's with me," a graveled and rough voice coughed from further down the hall. The voice announced the much later presence of an old crone—the human woman was well-on in years and her skin was mottled with spots of age. She had long silver hair, which hung down her back in a thick braid, and crafty looking brown eyes that reminded Sylir of a nexu. "Blasted droid knows he can move faster than I… and he delights in causing trouble."

"_She may be old_," Sylir warned himself, "_But it doesn't affect her_."

"Exclamation: Valla! You say such horrible lies about me!" The droid actually managed to look shocked, even though its shiny, golden head was encapable of showing emotion—a feat that both amazed and shocked the Jedi who was still under gunpoint, "Justification: I merely think that the world down here would be better served if we removed some of the useless biologicals that waste space." The droid turned from the old woman to look at Sylir, "Aside: no offense meant to the furry flesh sack."

"It's not an aside when they can hear it, Kay-ten, that's an apology…though a bad one," the old woman, Valla, smacked the droid on his gleaming rump—which was about as high up on the metallic entity that she could reach with her posture. "Now put down your weapon and go stand in the corner… if you couldn't see it already—our guests are injured."

The droid sulked off the far wall muttered, "Dejection: In a world of lawless beings… I never get to have any fun."

The old woman sighed and looked back to Sylir and Cai, "Sorry bout that… Kay's a handful."

"I can see that," the Jedi chucked. The action shook his chest and brought back to the forefront of his mind just how much pain he was actually in. Finally taking a second to look himself over, Sylir could see that he had about four metal barbs from the Barabel's weapon lodged in his chest, a nice gash on his right thigh, a long thin cut on his left arm, several minor cuts, bruises and burns… but other than the pain of exhaustion—he felt much better than he had after his last encounter with the hunters; The Cathar was willing to forget, for the moment, that he had been hunted into a corner, and, had Cai not done something miraculous, he would have been dead. Sylir didn't know what she had done… but he now owed his life to the Nautolan yet again.

"Cairee… I don't know what you've gotten yourself into this time," The old woman tucked her shoulder under Cai's left arm and helped the blue alien hobble down the dimly lit tunnel, "But last thing I remember is hearing you say that you wouldn't come back down here if your life depended on it."

"Guess I was exaggerating…" Cai groaned. The blaster wound in her thigh was bleeding, ripped open further than it should have been, thanks to their running.

Shaking her head slowly, Valla motioned to the droid over in the corner, "Ok you useless bucket of circuitry… light the way—and keep up with us this time."

The light from the droid's opticals flared with augmented intensity, and the mumbling erratic machine took point, leading their way into the dark… towards a place where Sylir was completely foreign. "Utteration: Stupid, aging, hobbling organic can't see three inches in front of her face…"

"Utteration isn't a word, Kay-ten," Valla offered with the air of helpful amusment in her voice.

"I don't see how you put up with that droid, Valla," Cai mumbled. Sylir could tell that fatigue and pain were beginning to get the best of her.

"Well… I built him, and he keeps me company," the old crone smiled, her crooked teeth rather yellow and some of the back ones were missing. "Kay's really the only friend I got nowadays."

They traveled along in silence; the echoing of their foot beats the only sound in the tunnel—save for the droid, whom Sylir had now decided could continue speaking even if shot out into vacuum—the droid would find a way. The Cathar could feel the air around them cool and become moist, which meant they were going further underground. His suspicion was confirmed when—all of a sudden—the path sloped downhill rapidly, winding to the left. It brought them to a widened corridor hollowed out of sheer rock.

The wide space was lit with dim, yellow glowrods—which provided Sylir with more than enough light to see. In the stone before them sat a bulky set of double blast doors which looked as if they could have repelled the Empire's best forces for at least a year… and probably still wouldn't have weakened. Whatever lay down here—it was a major operation.

Valla went over to a control panel to the left side of the doors, watching calmly as a speaker shot out. "This is Valla… I've got some old friends and the southern lift has dropped… no need to watch it until someone wants to go up."

"Copy that Valla… access code?"

"Geeze..." the old woman rubbed her head, "Kay, what's that code again?"

"Interjection: This should be exciting! The ancient organic's memory has failed her yet again!"

Suddenly a twin pair of quad-laser cannons whooshed out of the floor from both sides of the blast doors, training their heat-recognition sights on the trio of sentients. Valla whirled around to glare at the droid, "HK-one-ten… if you don't give me the damn access code, I'm going to make sure that my ghost comes back and corrupts your central processor!"

"Cynical Objection: I highly doubt that your threat will hold much weight once this is over with," but the droid hesitated… looking from Valla to the cannons with their red, bleeping, warning lights before muttering and walking towards the speaker, "Digression: but… on the off chance of it happening; Passcode: Tau Haitian Veshmora."

"Access verified… you are free to enter."

With a silent hiss of depressing hydraulics, all of three of the moral beings breathed a sigh of relief. They were ushered quickly through the hulking metallic doors by Valla, who didn't seem at all impressed by what lay beyond. Sylir would later come to notice that neither was Cai, but for the moment his mind was completely entranced by the sigh he saw. Here, at depths unknown, lay an entire world of which the galaxy had no knowledge. A sprawling cityscape met his view as far as he could look. Buildings as impressive as any one the surface rose up from the dull glowing depths of the city… possibly one hundred stories deep. Citizens and beings from dozens of worlds went to and fro… working, chatting, going home. The flashing lights of casinos, the pulsating flashes of corporate logos—none of which Sylir had knowledge of—and thousands of other sights bombarded the senses. There were relics from the Clone Wars down here, included a fully functional TechnoUnion ship which appeared to be pumping out working battle droids… only they were now labeled: _Cleaning droids! A cheap and inexpensive means of humor and healthy living._ This place was remarkable…

A hand suddenly appeared under his bottom jaw, pushing upwards with a soft but firm amount of force. "Close your mouth Jedi," Cai said smiling, "You'll catch something you don't want to."

"Don't scare the boy, Cairee…" Valla said, holding a hand out with a flourish, "So this is your first time eh? Well, m'boy! Welcome… to the underworld!"

_[...]_

_The darkness is a strange thing… ever present… inescapable. There is no one safe from its gaze—its influence. It is behind the stars, under the sheets of your bed, inside the clothes on your flesh… even under the soles of your feet. Darkness is inside each and every living thing—whether they want it or not. It does not need to fester, does not need to grow._

_They say a candle is all that you need to hold back the dark… heh, fools._

_All it needs is time. With time… all things will return to the darkness. Candles melt into their own extinction, lights will short out… with time—even stars burn out. When all light has faded from the universe—darkness will remain. It will never vanish. What else in existence can make such a claim?_

_[...]  
_

The halls were silent… like death. Ever since the arrival of their guest, things had grown somber. It was as if the very matter which made up these halls was aware of what they held. A terrifying prospect to be certain… Dain pondered these things as his lift brought him into the bowels of the Senate building—the place where criminals awaiting trial would be the most secure. Many people had objected, stating that if a person were to escape it would place the senators and countless civilians in danger. Those naysayers did not understand just how much effort was put into keeping people down here.

Stopping with a soft bump, the turbo-lift deposited Dain into a wide atrium. The Grand Master exited into a space, about two people wide, which was lined by an elite platoon of Senate Guards… the best of the best. They filed down both sides of this space, completely rigid and at attention. These guards were changed on the hour—an effort to maintain constant vigilance. They could ill afford for any of these guards to be tired or distracted. Dain walked the distance of the atrium in silence until he came to a large set of security doors. Passing a DNA and retinal scan… he was allowed access.

Dain entered into a smaller room. This room was sparse, there were no controls, no bars, and nothing could be accessed from this room. All the necessities were outside and could only be operated if an all clear was giving from the security monitors. Inside two Jedi Knights stood guard before a thin laser screen. The barrier was only a millimeter thick, but it was strong enough to repel beam drills and lightsaber blades… and the prisoner inside would not be able to get through. Inside the cell sat the dark clad figure of Virtra. She looked to be unconscious, sitting cross-legged with her head dropped to her chest. Hanging from the ceiling of the cell in cages, two Ysalamir chirped happily. The tiny mammals were found to be immune to the Force, canceling out all of the living energy around them—they, along with the drugs, were rendering the Sith from even smelling the darkside, much less touching its dark power.

Walking up to the cell, Dain peered in… watching the prisoner with a wary eye, "Has she said anything?"

"Not a word, Master Cross," the knight to his left said.

"Take your relief… I'll remain until your replacements arrive."

Both Knights bowed gratefully. Dain could tell they were uneasy just being in the same room with the Sith Lord. They waited until the security doors opened and then hurried from the high security cell with as much dignity as could be mustered. Dain didn't fault them—he could feel the uneasy tension rising up his spine as the thought now registered: he was alone in a room with Darth Virtra. No matter how many security measures were between him and this monster—he felt threatened.

"Well..." Virtra smiled. Her head still down, so most of her face was covered in shadow, but Dain could see the evil mirth in that expression. "If it isn't the little Jedi who put me in here? I'd say life has been rather kind to you since my departure… otherwise our positions would be reversed… or you'd be dead no?" Dain didn't answer… he just marveled. Somehow Virtra seemed to be completely coherent, even though he knew they had shot her full of drugs just within the last hour.

The moment Virtra's eyes shot open, the Sith was at the limit of her confinements, looking Dain directly in the eyes. The Jedi felt his soul grow cold. "So… you are unwilling to mutter even a few, small words behind these silent walls?" The Sith lord looked at him curiously.  
"I hope I didn't upset your young friend. She appears to be very… _fragile_," Virtra mocked a look of concern, "I reckon the Jedi must be having one hell of a time if you've come here yourself..."

"Why now?" Dain asked suddenly, cutting off her serpentine taunts. "What game are you playing at? You and I both know you could have resisted arrest... you could have gotten away with ease." He was tired of listening to her melodic voice… afraid the words might get under his skin—or worse… that Virtra knew enough to actually shake his confidence. The Jedi Master didn't want to find out. It had been hard enough for hardened Jedi such as Yoda and Obi-wan to deal with Virtra in a confrontation… he didn't feel up to the task.

"Oh… but it would have been such a public relations nightmare if I had been killed without a trial," Virtra mocked, sounding oddly enough like Chancellor Wilhelm.

"Is that what this is about?" Dain looked aghast, "You want a trial."

"Justice for all…" the Sith smiled.

"You never gave any of your victims justice," Dain countered.

"Does it annoy you?" Virtra asked a quizzical look upon her face.

"What?" he was getting irritated, and Dain knew that wasn't a good thing. He tried to center himself, knowing Virtra was just playing a game. The Sith always had a game to play, and Virtra was a very old Sith… she had years and years to perfect her game, to develop skill. In comparison, Dain was an amateur when it came to verbal play; his best and only chance, at surviving this conversation with dignity, would be to ignore her and go for information.

"It must annoy you..." Virtra continued, "Knowing that I have single-handedly dispatched more of your kind than any other person in existence. I may have not touched them all... but _you _know... I was their undoing."

Dain hated the truth he could see in Virtra's eyes. The countless deaths… that cold certainty which guaranteed she could kill him. The Jedi felt as if he were looking fate directly in the eye, and it was not looking favorably back at him. Dain's stared into Virtra's—fire meeting ice in a clash for dominance…

"Do you feel it... anger boiling beneath your flesh? The blood burns... You wish you could kill me. You want to kill me… don't you Dain?" Her words rang through his head like a low tone echoing in a dark fog.

"You'll be dead by hands other than my own," he growled, voice low in his chest. "I don't have to wish for anything. Your crimes will be punished, and I will make certain you are here to receive that punishment."

Virtra smirked, watching the Jedi master struggle to maintain composure, "You know the truth. You know I'm going to be your downfall, don't you?" She laughed coldly. Batting away his words as if they were nothing, Virtra was a master… she ignored everything he had said, pressing Dain's irritation further.

Her eyes leveled him, cold and the color of blood. "You are the bastard heir of a dead legacy, Dain Cross... going down forever in the annuals of history as the Jedi's greatest failure. That's your worst nightmare isn't it? That's what you dream at night... waking you in a cold sweat!" She spat the words with contempt, "I can smell it on you. The _fear_… it's disgusting."

She stopped and breathed deeply through her nostrils, "The fear... its stench is undeniable."

"You know nothing!" Dain's nostrils flared as he turned away from the dark visage before him. He wasn't winning… he was looking more and more like a fool the longer he continued this conversation.

Virtra smiled a motherly smile, but it was a warped and wicked form of the expression, "Poor Dain... you feel... so _very _much alone. The pitied legend, forced to lead a league of amateurs. You know it is only a matter of time. The darkness will surround everything, and not you, nor any Jedi, will keep this galaxy from drowning in its own blood. All alone! To ashes and dust... all falls down eventually. You cannot fight it. Your dreams will lie in rubble at your feet, waiting until you to fall to join them… and you _will_ fall… like all the Jedi before you."

Dain whirled and looked at her with a composed face, using the Force as his only hinge point from losing control, "And you? You think that you can somehow escape what you've gotten yourself into? Here is what I think... I think this is the last ditch effort of a _crazed _woman… trying to save her own pathetic life." He looked down at his chronometer, noticing that the next Jedi team should be here any minute… just a matter of—

"_TIME_!" Virtra bellowed, pointing a menacing finger towards Dain. The Jedi felt an electric jolt of fear course through his body. The dark and imperious gaze of Virtra was not that of a frightened woman. The booming announcement shook the walls, making each whispered word that came after it as loud as a hyperspace jump. "Waits for you.., Dain. It _longs _for your blood. But for me? Time is a different thing entirely. For me... time is endless."

Shaking his head, Dain stood before the doors as they opened, "Time… sooner or later finds us all, Virtra… even you." He walked past the two Knights who came to replace him, giving them words of encouragement before turning to the security monitor, "Shoot her again… I don't want to take any risks. Drugs come on the half hour now."

If they killed her… well then, it wouldn't be such a bad thing. Dain walked toward the turbo-lift, praying that such an accident might happen. Anything would be better than this cold chill which seemed to be lodged in his spine—Virtra couldn't escape; Dain knew this, but, as he looked back through the closing security doors, the Sith lord's cold smirk did nothing to assure his waning confidence.

[...]

"You know… I'd had my fill of medical droids yesterday," Sylir muttered, watching as the droid stitched up the cut in his leg with a surgical detachment that only an EmDee could possess.

There was a stifled cry from Cai as she tried to ignore the pain from her blaster wound being cauterized fully, "You think I asked for this?"

Sylir shook his head, "No… but we're lucky to be alive. It would have been nice to know that the floor opened."

"It's nice to know that you're willing to take a blaster bolt to keep me alive," Cai replied softly.

The Jedi master bristled. He had been willing… not only to take a blaster bolt, or be stabbed… but he had been willing to die to keep this woman alive. True he'd been willing to die for L'loria, and he would have fought hard to keep Pella and her padawan live… but he'd failed all of them; however, Sylir had actually bargained and resigned to death if it meant that Cai would live. The thought shook several strong foundations he'd set up for himself… and he didn't want to question them at the moment, "I would have done the same for anyone." The reply was just what a Jedi Council member would have said.

"Oh…" the Nautolan's voice fell a bit, "Still… it's nice. No one's ever done that before."

"For someone such as you it would be an honor," Sylir said politely, much like the heroes of old literature—the same kind that An'ya had told him to read in order to pass the time. "_But just what kind of person is she_?" Sylir questioned himself. The truth was: he didn't know much about Cai… they didn't know very much about each other. They'd been thrown together for this horror filled flight… and who knew if either of them would make it out alive. Just an hour ago they had both been expecting death. Something told Sylir that he should savor each moment that he had—perhaps it was a good lesson: don't take life for granted. The thought brought a weak smile to his face. How many Jedi claimed to treasure life… but didn't truly? There was a difference to respecting life and treasuring it.

"You're free to go." The mechanical droid voice told Sylir that he was finished.

"I'll just wait here for her," the Jedi motioned towards Cai.

"I'm afraid you cannot. We have other patients whom you cut in front of. We are now backlogged and we do not have the room."

Nodding in agreement, Sylir told Cai he would be waiting for her outside. She had lost a large amount of blood and her system had become near dehydrated from the exertion and stress… she would probably be a few more minutes before the droids would clear her—much to the trader's annoyance.

Wearily the Jedi master exited the Med Center only to see that Valla and her droid were still waiting for him. "Ah! Jedi! How're you?"

"I'm doing better… Cai should be out shortly."

The tottering old woman smiled brightly, "Aye… she's a good girl. A bit head strong, but she's got a good heart. Shame she's had such a rough upbringing… I thought it would make her a bit off—but she seems to be doing well."

"Um…" Sylir didn't quite know how to take it.

"Don't worry, Jedi," Valla elbowed him in the ribs, "You just keep an eye on her and she'll be fine."

Nodding politely, Sylir took Valla's hand and shook it, "I don't believe we have been properly introduced. My name is Sylir. It would be preferable with our current situation if you were to keep my title unspoken."

Raising a wary eyebrow the old woman seemed to get the idea, "Very well… Sylir. You can call me Valla… Valla Sloan. I've been a resident of the Underworld for as long as I can remember. My parents moved down here to escape something or another… that's how many people ended up here: refugees, criminals or orphans. We make a good life down here. There ain't anyone down here that's too terribly bad… they just couldn't make it with the rules up there and so now we've got a life down here. Everyone gets by…"

She stuck her thumb behind her, "And that's HK-110. I built him about five years ago… found the blueprints in an old trash bin and thought they looked nice. The program had an interesting personality and I do mean that. Most people think droids are just machines, but this one here has a mind of his own—has had since I activated him. He went and welded the shut off switch too… so now he can't be made to shut up."

"Observation: a good combatant always makes sure to eliminate weaknesses, crone," the droid let out a garbled wobble of sounds that mimicked a creepy laugh, "Suggestion: perhaps you should let me finally get rid of yours?"

"You know if you kill me Kay… you'll be terribly bored."

The droid started mumbling to itself, but its violent tendencies seemed to have subsided at her words. Sylir looked at the droid with caution, "He seems a bit…"

"Crazy?" Valla laughed, "He's about ten levels of a sky rise worse than that… but he's a good friend, and he helps me remember things. We have a working relationship: I fix him when he gets into a spot that he can't handle… and he makes sure my failing eyes don't drop me off a cliff."

"Exasperation: another of your frailties."

"And he's funny…" the old woman chortled, giving Sylir a wink.

"Objection: I am no such thing! I've been upgraded and remodeled until I am far superior to any organic. Humor was the first thing to go!"

Sylir couldn't help chuckle, which sent the droid into a fit of muttering. The Jedi could understand why, in a warped way, someone would keep this droid around. If it actually posed no threat—HK-110 would be a decent companion, and in this world… it would no doubt serve to keep an elderly woman like Valla safe. While he may believe that this world had laws, and that people made their way, he was not foolish enough to think that this Underworld did not have dangers. Valla wouldn't have a droid like HK if there weren't.

"You aren't talking about me are you?" Cai's voice was haggard; she was understandably tired, and as she exited the building she looked the part.

"Nothing bad I assure you…"

"Yes… nothing bad according to you, could mean that you said I looked like a rancor had attempted to devour me," Cai looked at Sylir with a woeful despair.

"Nothing about you came up," Valla cackled, "It so happens the Jedi is more into me than he is you!" With a shrill laugh Valla nearly tackled Cai in a big hug around her waist, "I missed you Cairee… ever since you left it's been miserable down here. Why I can remember you when you were just a teenager… you had me worried sick and now we're back to old times."

"Disgust: Organics and their memories… they never know how to save the good ones."

Sylir looked from the droid to the women and then decided that he was very much a stranger in a strange land… but if he was going to get to know his companion—perhaps seeing what she was like in a different life would be enlightening. They discussed their next course of action—which Cai stated should be sleep. She was exhausted and a bit shaken… the Jedi was willing to wager that she had not truly understood how dangerous his enemies were until today. Yes, Cai had been trying to keep him off the radar, but she had probably thought him inept or that he had exaggerated his encounter. Now? Now Cai looked as if she wanted nothing more than to forget everything that had happened. Sylir couldn't blame her in the least.

Of course their attempt to get a hotel was overruled by Valla. The old woman insisted they come and join her at her house… which she insisted was much to large and empty for an old woman and a droid—to which HK-110 had many colorful things to add. In the end the Jedi and the trader were forced to give in, and Valla led them through the streets of the Underworld until they were far away from their attackers and the threat of the outside.

[...]

Abregado's night was silent…

As Allara looked out on the city from the balcony, the Toran'ak leader could tell that people were beginning to see the affects of her movement. That would have to be rectified. Theirs was to be a silent operation and that last move… that had been a bit stupid. Luckily she had been able to rig a power core explosion, and it had destroyed the entire security compound. Still, people were whispering about bounty hunters—that much was fine. So long as they didn't know she was hunting Jedi… not just yet.

Things were slowly falling into place. They had some minor injuries and one casualty… well, two if you count the execution of Tythus. Still, for the price of three Jedi… they were still one up. Energy had surged into her group from today's experience. Not only had they easily killed two Jedi and taken out a security office… but they had hunted down that Cathar until he was cornered. They knew the Jedi had given up, and they were not as angry about his escape—but Allara knew that he had to be put down, and quickly. If the Jedi managed to escape, he could alert the entire order to their actions. She didn't know if she wanted that.

It would make things interesting, that much was certain—but hunting Jedi would be more difficult. Still, on the other hand, the Jedi Order would be afraid; fearful people were easily cornered… they made mistakes. She would have think on this matter more.

"We have something we need to talk about," Lovast said quietly, coming out to lean on the balcony next to her. The soldier was always quite efficient, and Allara was thankful for his help… even if his attentions were unwanted. She took them in stride, knowing that it made him a better worker because of it.

"Yes?"

"Delta never reported in… they didn't make it to Ansion." Lovast implied the meaning which Allara had already grasped.

"So they were killed by either the Jedi or the Sith?"

"The Jedi…" Lovast answered, "They just made a Holonet announcement. Darth Bicara is dead, and her slayer has returned… safe and sound. Apparently Master Kuro is a target worth pursuing."

Allara chewed on the inside of her jaw, thinking about it, "Perhaps… we will have to finish here before I make any decision on our next target. Kuro is a Jedi of the old times; she took down that Sith single handed, which means she won't be an easy target."

"And this Jedi is?" Lovast questioned.

"The Cathar is… _resourceful_, but if you are right... i we cannot take him down, then we cannot hope to go after his master." Allara's eyes sparkled with satisfaction as her announcement was absorbed.

"Kuro trained the Cathar?"

"Yes, she did… consider this a preliminary for a more difficult task. The Cathar Jedi is not only a Council member, but he's a second generation… he's the perfect training exercise. If we can bring him down," Allara smiled, "We'll be ready to take down the entire order when the time comes."

[...]

"Ah… home sweet home…" Valla muttered, settling herself into a worn and plushy chair. They had all collapsed, save for HK-110, the moment they entered the large apartment.

Valla lived in what would be considered a nice neighborhood, even by surface standards. Sylir was impressed that such amenities existed down her, and he was certain that his initial judgment of the Underworld had been rash. True, it had dangers—many of which Valla had pointed out; but the citizens down her all respected the law… and they made sure to enforce it personally. The greatest danger any member of the Underworld had to face… was the penalty for breaking their own law.

"Disagreement: relaxation is not a form of enjoyment, organics, it is a form of weakness."

"Forgive us, HK," Sylir said from his position on the floor, "But we are not capable of running on unlimited power cells."

"Let him complain, he likes it," Valla said, getting into a position where she could talk and be comfortable, "It's the way he relaxes… don't try to understand, just ignore him and let him be."

"I still can't believe you built that thing, Valla," Cai looked the droid up and down, "How much did it cost you?"

"More than you make on a single load of cargo…" Valla winced at the thought, "But enough about idle formalities. What are you two running from?"

Sylir sat up and looked at Cai, his eyes imploring her for some form of communication. He didn't know if they could trust this Valla Sloan, or if Cai wanted this mother figure to be brought into their current trouble. When Cai looked at him, the Jedi could tell that she was having the same worries. "We aren't certain you should be involved," Sylir said tentatively.

"Poppycock! I'm already involved having brought you into the Underworld… if these people follow you it'll be on my head. I'll need to alert the governing council and then there'll be bulletins to make…"

"You won't have to do that," Sylir interrupted, "I'm certain my pursuers won't follow us down here."

"Why's that?" Cai and Valla both asked with confusion.

With a sigh, he held out both hands, "Because I'm stuck down here… I can't get away and they are monitoring communications. They know that if I want to escape—I'll have to go back up to the surface sometime. They'll find out where that is… and they'll be waiting. They know it's just a matter of time. The longer we stay down here, the better prepared those hunters will be."

"You have a point," Valla muttered, "We only have short range communications for down here… we don't send transmissions to the outside. It's how we stay hidden," the old woman eyed the Jedi warily, "What did you do to get such a bounty put on your head."

"That's just the thing, Valla," Cai answered, "I don't think they _are_ bounty hunters… well some of them could be, but I don't think they are hunting Sylir for money. This is just too personal… why lure other Jedi here if it was just a bounty?"

"A bounty on all Jedi perhaps?" Valla supplied.

Sylir shook his head, "I doubt that… we'd have had other attacks on different Jedi teams. This seems to be isolated. I would have been bailed out of here immediately by the Jedi council if something like this were happening elsewhere."

"You have a mighty big problem my boy…"

Cai shuddered, "You have no idea, Valla… I thought he was in trouble—but that red armored Mandalorian… she's deadly, and she has it in for Sylir."

Sylir had to agree. This was personal, though probably not for the same reasons. The Red commando was out to kill Jedi—with all too great of efficiency. Sylir felt that the warrior's reason was somewhere obvious… but beyond his grasp all the same. He would probably never know. Right now the Cathar had one obvious goal: "We need to get off planet. I have to alert the Jedi Council, and we cannot afford to waste time. Three Jedi are already dead… I can't have anymore lives on my hands."

Valla nodded, "We still have that entrance under the Trader's Guild… Cai, do you think you could contact your crew?"

The blue Nautolan paused, looking up at the ceiling, "If you could get me to the surface… I can definitely get them to head for the ship. They'll know how to sneak in."

"Then later tonight, Cai, after you get some rest, you'll go up with Kay… and you'll set up plans for them to meet you at your ship in the morning. Hopefully your hunters won't have had time to put all of our entrances under watch."


	12. Of Justice and Death

This update was a little late,

I'm afraid I've been busy with my Naruto story. It has my attention, and it is getting someone decent reception. Sadly, SoA hasn't gotten the feedback I was hoping for. So I'm going to give his chapter a deciding factor. Depending on the feedback, I will most likely be dropping SoA into once a month updates. This will allow me to focus on my poetry, and my current Naruto story. For anyone interested in that fandom, it's a fairly good fic. I personally think it's got a plot to rival the anime (but i'm biased). It's possibly better written than SoA, as well. It's called Naruto: Kurashio (**N:K** from here on out).

This chapter was standard length, but nearly all action. I hope you like it. Virtra kinda takes a backseat after this chapter, and we start to focus on other parts of the galaxy... and we still have to see if Sylir gets off of Abregado-rae. Yes... everyone is probably wondering about that. XD

Well, I don't have anything else to say except that you should review. Yep, because I reply to your questions. Also if you review, I may just come over to one of your stories and give you a review too. (I give good reviews, or so I've been told. :P) Love you all, my readers! Especially you shadowy folk. Virtra sees you! O.o Until next time,

**_~Sarai_**

* * *

_**Chapter 12 - Trial at Midnight**_

It was dark... the peak of the night hours.

The trial had been placed together as quickly as possible, haste being the key factor. No one wanted to hold onto Darth Virtra for longer than necessary. The verdict was already in—this was just… good publicity. It would give the Republic strength and fairness… and it was a mistake. If people could not see this, well... An'ya had no pity for them.

"_You think she'll know that I'm in here_?" Bicara asked. An'ya didn't know if the Sith Lord would know their secret or not, but, if Bicara knew what was best for her, she'd be quiet and lay low until Virtra was disposed of.

All of the senators were gathered. The Rotunda was set and primed for the appearance of the defendant. It was a sham. They should get rid of Virtra now, while she was still downstairs, but it wasn't going to happen. The Jedi would guard her, and they would hopefully be able to contain her. An'ya would do her best to make certain that things weren't going to go wrong.

"What are you doing here, Master Kuro?" Dain's voice came from behind her.

An'ya turned slowly and leveled her gaze with his, "I'm here in case something goes wrong. You can't have too much security at this."

"You're still looking for something to go wrong? you need a reason to fight so badly?" the Grand Master shook his head, "I'm sorry but the security detail has been taken care of. You will return to the Temple. Master Bilaba will be waiting to greet you for the evening meal." As he said this, Jedi Masters Jeta Brier and Zallar came around the corner. Dain was begging her to protest, but An'ya would not give him the satisfaction.

"Very well," she said, bowing out, "I will await news of the verdict… at the temple." She gave a polite bow to Zallar and Jeta before she departed.

[...]

Jeta gave a sorrowful look which followed her master's departure, "Was that absolutely necessary, Dain?"

The man nodded, "I'm afraid so. We can't afford to have her kill Virtra during the trial, or Virtra using her as a liability. No, until we determine Master Kuro's future… it's best if she stay out of the public eye."

Zallar didn't say anything, so Jeta kept her opinion to herself… now was not the time. Personally the small Jedi would have felt better with An'ya present. Jeta knew her former master was brash and sometimes walked on the edge, but there was no denying that An'ya could hold her own. The Dark Woman was a Jedi to be admired, even if they didn't want the padawans to emulate her.

"It's time," Kyle announced, rounding the corner to look at the other Jedi masters, "The Senate is convened and they are bringing Virtra up."

The four Council members nodded to one another and took their places on the four major access points of the Senate Rotunda main floor. They each had a particular advantage of the proceedings, and they would be able to hold Virtra off… _if _she managed to escape. Other Jedi were posted at various levels and entrances, not to mention the two Jedi who were with Virtra: Master Viola Stark and Knight Tano Vass had the next scheduled shift to guard Virtra… they wouldn't let her go easily.

Jeta took her position at the back of the Senate. She had a good view of the Chancellor's podium as it rose up from the floor; she could see Wilhelm Evreux, the man beaming with triumph. To his left and right stood the Speaker of the House and the Minister of State… both aliens from different planets. Jeta didn't know exactly who they were, but they had been elected by the people—that was all that really mattered.

"Senators of the Republic!" Wilhelm called out, holding his hands up for silence. The chatter dimmed to a dull murmur… and then there was silence.

"We have gathered tonight because of a grave occasion," the Chancellor continued. "A shadow from the past has returned, and it is our duty to dispense justice. The perpetrator has been alleged with crimes against sentient kind, war crimes, treason, conspiracy to commit revolution, anarchy, attempted genocide… it is a long list, my friends, and I urge you to view this case without bias. It is essential." He turned to look at the Senate Guards waiting in the wings, "Bring in the defendant."

Jeta watched with baited breath. They had chosen to do the trial at night because the Jedi and the Senate Guards believed it would diminish public interest and cut out some of the media attention… that hadn't worked out as planned. What it did accomplish was create a time where people wouldn't have their proper senses about them. This felt wrong to the Jedi master; Jeta could feel tremors building in the Force as a hovering Senate box took to the center of the Rotunda, circling the Chancellor's podium.

The box held five figures: A senate guard holding a Ysalamir sat in the back; he was the first security precaution. Virtra stood in the center of the box, tall and impertinent with her hands bound behind her back in security binders; she showed no signs of fear or caution, rather she stood among a throng of her captors with a smug look of regality. Jeta couldn't make eye contact with the Sith without feeling sick. She didn't know how the three Jedi in the box were managing… wait—there were only supposed to be two Jedi, yet Maris Brood stood to Virtra's left, both of her tonfa-styled lightsabers gleaming at her waist. Standing in front of the Sith, blocking her from the Chancellor, stood the Twi'lek Jedi Knight Tano Vass, who had just recently been knighted. His saber skills were exceptional, and Dain had proclaimed him capable of the task… the final Jedi was Master Viola Stark, the human from Alderaan; she'd been a good friend of Bail Organa—and for good reason: she'd been a Padawan in the Clone Wars.

"Why is Maris in the senate box?" Jeta whispered to Dain in her comlink. They'd all brought one in order to keep contact throughout the trial.

"Zallar wanted extra precaution… Kyle and I agreed. It was last minute, but we felt it was better if a Council member were guarding Virtra."

"Good call…" Jeta didn't like being kept out of the decision, but it was one that should have been made… good thing they caught it at the last minute.

[...]

_I can hear the beating of hearts… _the rapid increase of blood to the lungs; that warm liquid rushing through weak and frail bodies. Panic… fear… I don't know why people allow such things to be so apparent—all I know is that I can cause them. Fear is a surprising weapon when used properly. It makes people do things they normally wouldn't do. For example: the Senate normally would not hold a trial during the long hours of the night, but out of fear… they wish to do this quietly. Such are the strange workings of the human mind.

The Jedi fear the dark—that much is easily seen, yet they willingly throw themselves into it if it means ridding themselves of their fears. It is faulty logic: brave your fears in order to remove them. I'm afraid that is not how it works. A wise human once said: "You have nothing to fear, but fear itself." He was right. You should be afraid… because fear, once it is in your heart… will make you mine.

"Virtra Thrad, otherwise known as Darth Virtra of the Sith Brotherhood... you have been brought before the Senate to stand trial for numerous and outrageous crimes," the Chancellor speaks with a strong voice, "How do you plead."

He is a weak man, even by human standards. He commands power over this mass. Thousands of senators and delegates from hundreds of worlds all look to me, whispering and talking... some old enough that they can remember the whispers from their ancestral stories perhaps? Then again no one remembers. It matters little in the scheme of things. As far as I am concerned I'll make them remember the present.

I can feel the smile twitch at the corner of my lips; it cannot be helped. In times like these I can only contain my laughter. The Jedi, the Senate… they don't understand; they have never understood. It's not my job to educate them. The best lessons are learned from mistakes. If one survives.

"For the sake of formalities… and _appearance_, Chancellor," I look at the Jedi to my left. I probably killed his master once upon a time… the look he gives me all but confirms such a happening, "Not guilty."

The roaring murmur at my announcement is easily ignored—I don't care what they think. The truth is that the verdict was decided long ago: they all want me dead. They want to cement power—Power for the Republic, to cow Vader in his boots; Strength for the Jedi, proof they can destroy their enemy; but I can remember a time when things were different. What am I saying? I can remember hundreds of times that were different. It all washes by the wayside sooner or later.

"Very well… you will submit to questioning then?" The Chancellor is mildly stumped… probably didn't plan this far. Then again he is a brilliant orator—not a thinker.

"I will."

Of course I will… I'm waiting. Ask your questions… I have time.

"The first question comes from the Chair of Alderaan," Bail Organa's box shoots forth… and his pretty little daughter. I wonder why she's here. Bail always struck me as a smart man… To bring such a beautiful child here… it seems foolish to me. The brat is barely seventeen years old. I survey her carefully, and she does the same. Her eyes are knowledgeable—that is why she's here. She can see me just as clearly as I can see her, even before her father steps between us blocking my view—I cannot help but wonder why the Jedi have not taken her for themselves…

Bail speaks, "Darth Virtra, are you not responsible for the massacre on Sullust?"

Ah… I can remember Sullust. The burning, the screams… I built such a force from those ashes. I must do something like that again—perhaps with a better background? As I look Bail Organa in the eyes, his once dark hair now graying with age, I think Alderaan would make a lovely setting for a slaughter. No… it wouldn't even be a challenge. I'm done with slaughter and easy carnage—no, I've planned something… something far more impressive for this galaxy. I can see Bail physically cringe as I contemplate his question. I must have that look on my face—the one where I actually look happy for the briefest of moments. I imagine it is quite a disconcerting look.

"I am."

[...]

Dain watched the questioning with disgust. Virtra was completely controlling the floor… she had the Senators mesmerized. It wasn't because she had them bewitched; the situation was simpler than that. These were normally weak beings, people who fought with words and bureaucracy, and they had one of the most powerful people in the galaxy at their whim… they felt true power for the first time—and they were intoxicated by it. Maybe not all of the Senators, but definitely the majority as the Grand Master was quickly noting.

"The Chair from Malastare," A Gran took the floor from Bail. The alien's three eyes were looking everywhere _but _at Virtra, and he looked to be sweating. "I have concerns about the rumored attack on Coruscant. While I can understand your assassination attempt on Palpatine during your war… how do you answer for your attack on the people?"

"_Why not ask for her opinion on the new public works bill_?" Dain screamed inwardly. He couldn't believe that this was actually happening.

"A message had to be sent… to the galaxy, not just Palpatine," Virtra's red irises came to look directly at Dain, and the Jedi master froze, "I sent my best operatives to the main power reactor plant. I staged the assassination on Palpatine personally… and while Imperial forces were occupied with hunting me—my operatives knocked out power to twenty percent of Coruscant."

Dain, of course, knew this already… he'd seen the holo-vids. It was one time when Palpatine hadn't been able to contain all the information, or cover it up with propaganda. Coruscant had been in chaos for weeks… in which time Virtra had slaughtered the Jedi on Ambria, and she had leaked information which led Vader to Degobah. She had been responsible for those death as well, even if Vader had done the deed. Dain watched silently, becoming more and more disillusioned with the proceedings as each Senator asked their questions. His interest did get caught, however, when Senator Garm Bel Iblis came forward.

"If you'll take a moment to look towards the center podium," the Senator of the Corellian Sector, with his gray hair and beard, motioned to where a small hover table appeared before the Chancellor. On the table, also projected onto a large screen so all could see, were two, identical, black cylinders… Dain knew what they were immediately. Garm continued, "Could you tell us what these are?"

"Lightsabers," Virtra said plainly, "Mine to be specific."

"And can you tell us just how many people have been killed by these weapons?" Garm asked.

Virtra actually let out a laugh. The sound was a quick, harsh, echoing sound of disbelief. Then she looked back to the Senator, "You're serious?" With a sharp nod, Garm Bel Iblis stared down the Sith Lord… and he did not look afraid, not one ounce of uncertainty was in his stance or features.

"Oh my…" Virtra breathed, "You know I _actually _stopped counting…"

"A rough estimate then."

"Well, roughly… I'd say in my lifetime I've killed… ten thousand easily. I'm probably selling myself short, and I'm only counting death I personally inflicted, but… that's a big enough number for this reaction," Virtra slowly turned her gaze to enjoy the appalled uproar from the Senators.

"This entire preceding is ridiculous," the senator from Toydaria, a squat flying alien with emerald green skin, took to the center of the forum. His little wings were beating so rapidly that he almost came out of his box and flew towards Virtra. "If you were truly Darth Virtra… why would you even be here?"

"You captured me… well not you, but the Jedi located around here are partially responsible," Virtra replied innocently, "The rest of the credit goes to the Senate guards… but you can have the credit for all I care."

"Don't mock me, woman," The Toydarian flared his trunk-like nose, "I think you are a fraud! You are a sick individual who is attempting to incite panic and fear for the sake of gaining fame for herself. I think there are many questions that have been pushed under the rug. For one: we know for a fact that a Jedi or a Sith would never willingly give up their lightsabers. Why then would Darth Virtra, self proclaimed powerful entity, willingly give up her weapons?"

"Because…" the Sith smiled viciously, "I needed them to be somewhere else…"

The response didn't seem to register. Dain looked from the Sith to the Toydarian senator with confusion… the same confusion that was mirrored on the Senator's face. Then chaos broke loose faster than Dain could blink.

One moment Virtra was standing perfectly still; the next she had leapt backwards, head butting the Senate guard who was holding the Ysalamir. As the guard flipped backwards over the edge of the Senate box, Virtra looped her binder clad hands around the Ysalamir's neck… killing the creature with a sickening snap. The moment the Force immune creature died… Dain could sense the danger: Virtra was definitely not drugged.

The three Jedi in the box were drawing their lightsabers, Maris at their head. When Virtra's hands came from around her back, brilliant electrical energy arced from the Sith's fingers, flaring brightly through the air and striking the Jedi before they had even cleared their weapons. Maris and the others went flying, their bodies soaring over the edge of the senate box and falling to the Rotunda floor below.

"All Jedi! Move to cover the exits!" Dain shouted into his comlink, drawing his lightsaber and watching the bright blue weapon sing to life.

Virtra wasn't moving to escape.

Dain realized this in seconds… but he was too late to do anything to stop it. The Sith Lord ran to the front of the now empty hover box, leaping with elegance and grace only attributed to the Force, and she went soaring towards the Chancellor's podium. Virtra threw both hands out, and her lightsabers slapped to both palms as if they had been waiting, primed and ready. Crimson blades snarled to life, batting away blaster fire from Senate guards who had manage to get a shot; Virtra came down like a bird of prey. Both saber blades pierced Wilhelm Evreux in the chest, and the Sith swung her arms wide, decapitating the Speaker and Minister…

Dain was frozen to the spot, eyes fixated upon the Sith lord— Virtra perched upon the podium with her arms out wide; she looked like a violent dragon with its wings spread wide, while the heads of two ignorant politicians bounced down to meet the Jedi who had fallen to the floor before them. That one momentary second, as it hung frozen in time… suddenly sped up—and Virtra was a blur of darkness and crimson. The Sith deflected the Senate guards' shots effortlessly, without any care as to where they ricocheted. Screams erupted from the senators and there was a roar of chatter on the comlink; Jedi were rushing to cover any exit where the Sith lord might go… but Virtra's red eyes locked upon his, and Dain knew just where she was headed.

The Grand Master raised his lightsaber blade in a ready stance, the Sith lord moving to come straight for him… and she leaped. Dain had been expecting Virtra to come barreling for him, after all, he had covered the best escape route—but the Sith exploded into the air with an awe inspiring height, soaring up to the highest levels of Senator boxes and far beyond Dain's sight. From where he stood under the alcove, he could not see Virtra, but he heard the screams.

[...]

Jeta had a perfect vantage point to see the gruesome murders. She also saw exactly where Virtra had leapt and was now fleeing—if you could call a steady walk fleeing. The Sith disappeared from sight, causually pushing back Senate guards as she made her way towards whatever her goal might be. Jeta didn't hesitate, pulling her comlink out, "Virtra's on the eleventh floor, northern corridor… I think she may be headed for the roof."

"I understand," Zallar's voice came in over the other chatter, "I am headed in pursuit."

"Don't go alone!" Jeta called after him.

"I'm not… I have Tano with me and two others are headed in her direction from the east," Zallar then cut the communication but it was quickly replaced by Dain's concerned voice.

"Jeta! Jeta, are you alright?"

She took a deep breath and began heading for the Rotunda's floor, "I'm fine. How are the others?"

"From what I know… Kyle got to Maris. She's broke her leg, but other than that she's fine. The guard is dead and Master Stark is unconscious… but I think that is the least of our worries at the moment." Dain sounded haggard, like he was running.

"Where are you?"

"I'm going to meet up with some of the other Jedi… we have to capture Virtra and end this now!"

"Dain!" Jeta shouted, hoping to get him to pause, "Zallar is already headed after her!"

There was a long pause where all she could hear was Dain's breathing. The Grand Master's thoughts could almost be heard over the communication channel. Finally he spoke, "Where?"

"Eleventh floor… northeast corridor…" Jeta hadn't even finished before Dain had canceled the transmission. The only thing she could think to do—was to send a silent prayer after him… with that done, Jeta hurried to aid the two injured Jedi below.

The floor was littered with the slashed, charred bodies of Senate guards, about twenty of them… and Zallar could hear the shouts, screams, and explosions of fighting up ahead. The Wookiee Jedi put on a burst of speed and hurried to catch up with the Sith. The Twi'lek to his right, Tano's orange skin looked pale and a grim determination was set on his face. They did not have any time to waste as they ran, their Jedi robes flapping violently as they poured on speed. Zallar's blue lightsaber was held at his side for ease of running and Tano mirrored his posture, yellow bladed ready for action. The two Jedi almost ran directly into two other knights as they rounded the corner:

Knight Jerrica Than was a human from an outer rim planet, perhaps Tatooine—she didn't talk much of her past, and Yoda had never said much. She was an average woman, from what Zallar knew of the human species. Her companion was a Bith Jedi, a squat male with honed muscle… he was called Troth. As Jedi came, he was a simple entity… but he had grown up in a harsh climate that had made him fight… and he would fight today.

"We didn't run into her," Jerrica said obviously.

Together the four Jedi looked to the only corridor that branched off from the main one and they all said it at once, "The roof." Moving as a single unit, Zallar and Tano took point with Verrica and Troth holding the flanks as the Jedi took to the stairs. They exploded out onto a large balcony, overlooking the sky lanes of Coruscant's night—only to see Virtra dispatching Senate guards left and right.

Zallar leapt into the fray, his white robes pooling around him as he spun, his blue blade colliding with red.

Virtra whirled with her parry, dispatching the last Senate guard with the same strike as her second blade came straight for the Wookiee's torso. Luckily Tano's gleaming yellow blade intersected with red—just protecting Zallar from death... but Virtra was already moving, dancing away from the two Jedi and engaging Jerrica in a rapid series of slashes and parries. The speed of the Sith's lightsabers was astounding… she made Vapaad look like amateur work, and she pushed the Jedi to their limit—but all they would need was one opening. The four Jedi constantly moved as a unit, working full pace to cover one another's back—while Virtra just keep the feral smirk on her lips.

However, it was Jerrica who gave an opening to Virtra. The Sith lord feinted expertly: Virtra looked as if she were stumbling, and the Jedi woman took advantage of the false opening—her reward was a lightsaber through the heart… which Virtra twirled elegantly into and clashed blades with Tano. With Jerrica no longer there to hold her own weight—Tano was bisected before either Troth or Zallar could cover the discrepancy.

With a deft double parry, Zallar and his Bith companion were thrown backwards like children, Virtra standing before them with her blades held loose at her sides. It was another ploy—she dared them to attack. Zallar wasn't going to fall for it; in less than a second this Sith had halved their numbers… he couldn't make a risky maneuver.

"Very well, Jedi…" Virtra whispered. "I'll come to you."

The Sith lunged, covering the gap between them almost instantly. She struck like a viper, the Force slamming behind her strokes with immense power. Virtra was fast, twirling and flipping through their defenses and it took all Zallar's capability to keep up with her. One, four… no, five near misses! Her crimson blades scored smoking, black marks along his robes… signs that he was slowing down. Zallar blocked and pushed with all his effort, the Force erupting in a shock wave—Virtra backed off. For a brief moment, Zallar received a much needed second to breathe—but it came at a terrible cost. To his left the Wookiee heard a choking noise and watched horrified as Troth collapsed beside him… a brilliantly glowing hole burned into his throat.

Zallar now stood alone against the Sith, and he had a horrific last thought: she was just toying with them.

[...]

"Where are we going?" the boy asked.

Dain looked at him as a boy, but he had just been knighted… barely nineteen. Still, he was one of the few Jedi Dain could grab with the short notice he had. If he could get there with Zallar… they would have seven. That should be enough to take down Virtra.

"Calm yourself, Zak," the Grand Master cautioned, "This is not a training exercise… this is the most dangerous fight you are likely to face."

The words were meant to make the boy wary… but Zak seemed to grow more excited in the Force—while Zallar suddenly spiked. He'd engaged Virtra. Dain poured on speed, completely ignoring turbolifts as they took flights of stair in single leaps. On his left was a Marcus Neil, he'd been on Degobah… a good man who had seen his fair share of war. He was steady… but also cautious. Marcus had seen Virtra's sins first hand, having run across her apprentices at the battle of Dathomir. Marcus had actually been the one to take down Darth Nivaron—at the cost of his arm. Still, Marcus kept up with Dain every step of the way; Zak wasn't quite so talented.

The Grand Master and his posse had to skirt the trail of bodies once they entered the eleventh floor corridor… and the bodies only kept piling up. They got to a particularly large at a branch off which lead to a rooftop balcony… and Dain knew that is where Zallar and Virtra were… along with three other Jedi.

Suddenly pain erupted through the Force, and Dain knew that there were only two Jedi on roof now. He let panic increase his speed, not even bothering to honor the dead—Dain leapt over bodies and blew the door open with the Force. The trio of Jedi exploded off the ground, avoiding stairs entirely as they landed at the top of the flight. They poured out onto the balcony… only to see bodies. Dozens of bodies…

Senate guards were mangled by saber and the Force… crushed, slashed, dismembered… some contorted in ways that were foreign and unnatural—and amid the carnage lay four freshly slaughtered Jedi. Zallar's body still had a twin pair of burning holes smoking from his back, as if he had been struck by a giant serpent. The once proud Wookiee now lay face down against the permacrete… and Virtra was nowhere to be seen.

Dain tentatively took to the Balcony, his sense fully alert and probing the Force for warnings. All he could feel was the darkness and death—the fear in the Senate Guards and the horror of the Senators… chaos ruled the night. Dain had his lightsaber ignited as he made it to Zallar; there was no signature of life from his friend… the Force eliminated the need to search the furry Jedi for a pulse.

There was a hiss and a spark, and two brilliant shafts of red grew from the chests of his Jedi companions. As Dain whirled around to strike, Virtra nimbly flipped over his head and landed on the balcony's edge—both sabers held aloft with deadly precision. Marcus and Zak's bodies collapsed around him as Dain brought his lightsaber back around, barely bringing it up to block as Virtra launched herself at him again.

Flipping and spinning in a dance of death, Dain and Virtra tore across the balcony. The Sith was everywhere, all around him… burning a heated line across Dain's cheek when he had been less than a second late with a block—Virtrawasn't playing games.

Dain stepped up his concentration, throwing all hesitation to the Force. His cerulean blade slashed out an intricate pattern, cutting and weaving its way through the air as he pushed Virtra back—only to have the Sith nimbly twist away and put him on the defensive once more.

Virtra was calm, her pale face the illumination of night. Her twin blades worked in perfect union; she was never without a defense—always with a counter attack. Their deadly tango escalated as Dain poured shockwaves through the Force. The air between them exploded as Virtra countered with her own—bodies flew, slamming the walls of the entrance and breaking against the balcony's edge… Dain forced himself to stop—the bodies must be saved.

Virtra scored him with Force lightning for his hesitation and goodwill, blasting Dain in the chest. His blade came up to catch most of the stream, but he could feel several burns on his chest, his robes smoking as he breathed in raggedly. The Jedi Master was given no reprieve; Virtra was on him again in an instant.

Was this how Zallar died, fighting this monster?

Dain's fear peaked and he was pushed back, his saber knocked aside as another crimson strike barely missed his head. Spinning desperately, Dain escaped her onslaught and threw a backwards strike at Virtra—the Sith flipped over it again. She landed in front of him, elbowing him in the chest and swiping his legs from under him. Dain hit the ground hard, his back echoing with enough force that he almost expected the duracrete to crack. He rolled just soon enough to miss a stabbing blow that would have skewered his head. Virtra's scarlet bladed bubbled the floor, turning it into molten stone, and her other blade slashed up… scoring another hit on his side.

Upon his feet in an instant, Dain attacked her with furious abandon. Surprise appeared in Virtra's eyes for the briefest moment, taken off guard by the sudden retaliation. She jumped back, putting distance between them and landing on the balcony's edge once again. Now she had height on him as well as a perch…

Dain attacked, chasing Virtra's flight as she skillfully sidestepped and danced down the balcony ledge… her footwork was exquisite. She batted his attacks away, he stabbed and slashed; they forged an intricate cocoon of light—and then Virtra faltered… one of her feet slipped and Dain watched her hands want to cartwheel in order to keep balance, but she still blocked one of his strikes. He pushed the advantage as she fell backwards, stabbing for her heart… but she wasn't in the line of his strike.

Virtra smirked as she flipped over his head. Realization dawned too late, the Grand Master had fallen for a perfectly acted feint. It was brilliant, and Dain marveled at the Sith's skill as her blade scored his upper right arm. The strike rendered his limb useless… Dain could feel the muscle as it burned, crying out with pain, but he still managed to switch hands. His left arm swung up to block Virtra's next strike.

The force of Dain's parry caused Virtra to spin away from the fight, and he thought he could regain his footing—just as the Sith threw another strike at him. It was too far away, they had several meters between them and the blade was only three foot long. Then he saw Virtra's hand make and intricate movement on the hilt, the blade elongated and jumping out at him—the laser cracking towards him like a whip. The strike caught him in the left leg, and it immediately bucked.

Dain dropped to one knee, bringing his good hand up to block the next attack; Virtra deftly flicked her wrist and flung the lightwhip out again, catching Dain's blade and yanking it from his grasp.

Virtra spun, thumbing a button to return her whip back to a normal blade. The other saber stabbed for his heart. Dain threw out a hand in desperation, calling Zallar's lightsaber to him. Relief surged through him as the metal hilt slapped his palm and ignited just in time—blocking the death stroke and diverting it to bury in his upper shoulder. Virtra flowed with the attack; flipping over him and landing with a lift touch down upon the balcony's edge.

Dain staggered backwards, spinning to look at the deadly Sith… ready to defend again.

Virtra did not moved.

She raised her hands over her head until they both touched at the wrist, sabers held above her like a twisted impersonation of justice. Sith looked at the defeated Jedi—Virtra knew she could kill him. He expected death—and just as Dain expected it to come swiftly upon him...

Virtra dived backwards off the balcony.

Dain rushed to the edge in time to see her rip through a sky car, exploding it… as she plummeted to the ground. He heard the explosive shockwave of her landing, followed the alarms of shops and vehicles that were jostled in the waves of the darkside… screams and cries—Darth Virtra had escaped.

No longer able to stand, Dain succumbed to the loss of movement and blood that had escaped through cauterized wounds which opened during the battle… The Jedicollapsed against the edge of the balcony, little strength left to give.

[...]

Jeta, Kyle, Viola Stark and a squad of Senate guards poured out onto the balcony to see the littered crowd of bodies: dead guards and Jedi, along with a battered Grand Master who looked on the verge of death.

Jeta could sense despair and fear in all of the people around her, and she had to fight to keep the same emotions from welling up within her as well.

She had seen a flash of this scene in her vision—the dead Jedi, though she hadn't know which ones… she had seen the darkness kill them. She had known Dain would be beaten; she just hadn't know it would be like this… Jeta cursed for not being able to work out these visions, blaming herself as she rushed to his side.

"Dain! You answer me!" she dropped to her knees and she felt Kyle's presence next to her. Jeta could feel hatred—Kyle hated seeing his brother weak, hated to see him defeated.

Kyle Cross was a warrior… a Jedi dedicated to fighting. He and his brother were an even match, having bested each other and even number of times thus far. If Dain was in this predicament—what would that have meant if Kyle had fought Virtra? A defeat to the Grand Master was a defeat for the warrior.

"Dain!" Jeta cried.

The Jedi master shook his head, "Much too loud..."

Jeta practically broke down into tears, hugging the Grand Master tightly, "Oh! thank the Force!"

"Ouch…" Dain muttered pathetically.

"Medic!" Kyle shouted turning back to the crowd of guards, "Someone get me a stretcher or a medic!"

Jeta was relieved. Dain may look bad, but his Force signature was strong.

She poured her own strength into him to make certain, and she knew he would survive this. Amid the sirens, the screams, the terror of the night—even though the Force wept for the atrocities which had taken place in this darkness, Jeta found her one bright point: Dain was alive. He would recover, and they would stop Virtra. They had found a way this far… they just needed time, and, right now, they had it. The Sith couldn't build her base of power as quickly as she had before—and the Republic knew she was out there. There would be a hunt going on—galaxy-wide. Virtra would be found… it was only a matter of time before the Force realigned.

As they placed Dain on a stretcher, Jeta gave Kyle a slight pat on the shoulder, "It's all going to be fine… I know it w—"

Just then she was hit with a vision. It was vague—darkness mixed with blood and surrounded by shadows. She easily saw the haunting visage of the past: a black mask from their nightmares. The figure of Virtra towered behind it in a night which seemed unending—blood flowed like water.

Jeta's vision burred violently before the world vanished. She knew Kyle was looking at her with concern, saying something, but the face she saw was not his. She saw the face of a man that no one had seen in years: the face of Anakin Skywalker looked worriedly at her—it mouthed whispered words of "secrets" before he was taken back into the darkness... then the Force righted itself, and she was once again in the present. Jeta shook her head, blinking rapidly.

"…atter with you?" Kyle's voice was concerned.

"Huh?"

Kyle sighed, "What's the matter with you? You were just saying that everything was going to be all right, and then you get all white like you've just had a…" Kyle stopped himself as he realized what he was saying. "It's bad isn't it?"

Jeta looked at him with terrified eyes, her eyes horrified, "Everything is definitely… _not _all right?"


End file.
